


The Heir Apparent

by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow/pseuds/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel saves Kili's life during the Battle of the Five Armies and alters the course of history, forever. (Highlights the years between The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy).</p><p>(NOTE: This is a repost because I'm an idiot. My apologies to everyone who left reviews and kudos and bookmarked this work over the last two years. The good news is that I updated!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall of Durin's Line

**Author's Note:**

> It has been many, many years since I have written anything LotR related, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm a tad (or a lot?) rusty. I did, however, do some researching and re-reading before diving into this endeavor, though it in no way makes me faultless. I've written this story with a mixture of book and movie cannon (obviously, as Tauriel doesn't exist in the books and Azog was killed long before the events in The Hobbit). I'm aware that many LotR/Hobbit fans were outraged by the not-so-subtle love story between Tauriel/KÃli, but I myself loved it and thought perhaps I might contribute a story centered, as believably as possible, on what that might possibly lead to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION!: In case anyone is confused, this is a repost of the story I deleted like an idiot on my phone. Just to restate what I did in the description, my apologies to everyone who has been following this story.

_Oh, misty eye of the mountain below_

_Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls_

_And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke_

_Keep watching over Durin's sons._

_-I See Fire,_

_Ed Sheeran_

* * *

_23 November, 2941 TA_

**T** auriel was no stranger to death.

Her two hundred years as Captain of the Guard had shown her the fragility of even an elven life, but she had never imagined she'd witness it at such magnitude or cruelty. The very air was poisoned with anguish and loss and her lungs burned with each shuddering breath she drew. Wielding bow, arrow and swords, she pressed her way through the host of Goblins, Wargs, and Orcs toward the small, lethal company of dwarves as they cut a path from the Gate of Erebor. They were nearing the ground Azog and Bolg held, the two Orcs surrounded by their personal, well armored guard, and fear leapt into her heart. She was not going to reach them in time.

Her world became a blur of grotesque faces awash in black blood and harried by shrill cries of pain and death. She fought harder and more fiercely than even she had believed possible and later, after the battle had been won, many would speak in hushed, reverent voices of the She-Elf who had felled every goblin who came before her, leaving a river of death in her wake. She would remember very little of it save for the moment she broke free of the main host and watched Thorin as he fell. Her world narrowed and slowed as she caught sight of a familiar black haired archer with his elder brother at his side as they faced down an impenetrable wall of Warg-mounted Goblins. She watched, transfixed, as the brothers stood resolutely over the prone form of their fallen kinsmen, swords raised in stubborn defiance.

 _Curse the foolishness of dwarves_ , she thought and leapt forward. She reached behind her to take another arrow, intent on saving the two brothers if she could, and felt only empty air. Her heart stopped and her steps faltered; she was too far away to be of any use hand to hand and she watched helplessly as Fíli took a blow to his midsection and stumbled. Despite the distance, Tauriel could hear Kíli's cry of outrage and grief. He threw himself wildly into the line of Goblins in a rage of flashing steel.

 _I did not save him only to watch him die_.

Determined, she took quick survey of the area around her. Men, elves and dwarves fought in close proximity but they took no notice of her, engrossed in their own battles and fears. She caught sight of an elven arrow, gold tipped and finely made, protruding from the gut of a Goblin a few feet away and judged it her best and only hope. Leaping over several corpses, some of them familiar to her, she yanked and twisted the arrow free of the vile beast and with no hesitation she raced across the blood soaked earth to place herself in range. Pushing her fears, doubts, and heart aside, cool calculation took control. Kíli was holding his own but he would not last. He was a skilled, hardy warrior, perhaps more so than she might have anticipated, but help would not reach him in time. She was his only hope and she had only the one arrow.

He stumbled when she was only barely in range and Tauriel knew, as a Goblin raised a crude sword over his bulbous head and Kíli fumbled for his own weapon, that this was her only chance. Dancing away from the blade of a charging Goblin, heedless of her own safety, she stopped dead and took aim. She breathed, once, she breathed twice, and she fired, setting her arrow free with all her hopes and wishes and deepest, largely unrealized, feelings along with it. Like a miracle, the arrow found its mark through the creature's eye and Kíli rolled to avoid the falling, armor-heavy body, rising quickly to his feet with sword in hand. He turned toward her in surprise and their eyes met across the bloody chaos. Tauriel experience a moment of pure clarity unlike any she had experienced prior and it shook her down to her very core.

 _I love him and it will be the ruin of me_.

But they were not out of danger yet and Kíli obviously refused to leave his brother and Uncle's side. A line of enemies stood between she and the young dwarf prince and she drew her knives with deadly purpose. She was alone, with no one at her back, and she knew she had placed herself in a dangerous, possibly deadly position. At least, she reasoned, she could take as many of the foul beasts with her as she could. And maybe, by the grace of the Eldar, she had managed to save Kíli's life. Again.

Suddenly, from somewhere behind, she heard a roar so fierce and terrible she fell immobile in its echo. The horde parted in degrees and the Goblins around and before her faltered, many fleeing. Wide eyed and rooted, Tauriel watched as a massive bear came barreling toward her, shredding Goblins with teeth and claw, a dreadful blood thirst in its black eyes.

"Tauriel!" came a voice, familiar and fierce, "Move!"

With a gasping cry, she darted and rolled away from the creature with a mere hand's breath to spare. When she rose, Legolas was at her side, hair disheveled and streaks of blood, red and black, marring his beautiful mithril armor. He held one of his long daggers in hand; it was black with blood.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his tone tight and his face hard. He wore his father's eyes, cold and calculating, and a chill took her. Taruiel felt faint as she nodded and took his proffered hand, rising shakily to her feet. The fight in her momentarily subdued, she wearily watched the path the great bear carved and felt sick inside as it neared where Thorin had fallen; where Kíli, whom she could no longer see, had last stood.

"The King Under the Mountain has fallen," she murmured and released Legolas's hand.

"Then he met the end he deserved," Legolas replied, tone harsh and void of emotion. Tauriel hadn't the strength to argue and again followed with her eyes the path the bear had created in hopes of finding Kíli still alive somewhere in the wreckage. Legolas stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"The dwarf prince is dead, Tauriel, do not follow after him."

Anger flared as the battle around them turned, at last, in their favor, and she shrugged off his hand violently, facing him with snapping eyes.

"Then I shall mourn his loss and that of his kinsmen, for they were beings worthy of remembrance and honor," she said, though in her heart she could not accept that Kíli was, in fact, dead. Legolas looked stunned, hurt, and perhaps even betrayed, and she turned her back to him.

As she moved up the slight rise toward where she had seen Kíli last, humans, dwarves and elves alike fell in line beside her, eager to route the remaining Goblins as they retreated. Tauriel could not have cared less. Many lives had already been lost and she was not eager to watch the loss of more. She crested the hill and discovered the body of Thorin was gone with the massive bear nowhere in sight. Fíli, however, remained where he had fallen. Turning, she spotted an achingly familiar blue cloak and dark head motionless on the ground a yard away. She looked back briefly to the fallen dwarf before her as a spreading numbness swept through her limbs. Fíli's eyes were closed and the blood from his stomach wound had long since stopped flowing. His once cheery face was pale and flecked with blood and dirt, his broad chest still.

"Go in peace, young prince," she murmured softly in Sindarin and moved away, leaden feet drawing her toward the prone form of Fíli's younger brother.

She fell boneless to her knees beside Kíli, heedless of the blood and grime and dimly aware she was crying. With trembling hands she reached out and rolled him gently onto his back. His responding groan was perhaps the most joyous sound she had ever heard and her heart stuttered in her chest.

"Kíli…" she breathed and watched as his eyes fluttered and opened. His face was pale, his hair tangled and matted. There was a thin trail of blood trickling from his nose and his dark blue eyes seemed dazed, but, miraculously, he smiled. She took a few deep breaths, her relief and hope so acute, they stung.

"I knew you would find me, you're… always saving me." He reached out his hand, large fingers stained and dirty, and touched her cheek in reverence. She covered his hand with hers and they stayed like that for several timeless moments before sudden grief darkened his gaze.

"Thorin… Fíli…"

Tauriel winced and reached out to smooth the hair away from his face with an unsteady hand. She spoke softly, carefully, "Thorin is gone. Taken, I expect, by the Skin Changer. He may yet be alive. F-Fíli…" she trailed off, at a loss for what to say. Grief took Kíli and he lurched gracelessly to his feet as she watched helplessly, unable to stop him. He stumbled toward his brother's body and fell across his chest with heavy, weeping sobs.

Another of his company, the one they called Balin, came to her side bearing axe and blade, brilliant in the armor of his people. She looked up at his aged faced and she saw grief and loss in the old dwarf's gaze. They said nothing as the battle died down and dissipated around them, they could only silently watch Kíli's grief and reflect on their own.

* * *

**T** auriel found Legolas that evening as the sun set bloodily behind distant mountains. He sat silently and alone around the fire outside his father's great tent. A very dire meeting was taking place within, one she suspected Kíli was a part of. Stifling a groan, every muscle in her body screaming in protest, she sat beside him.

"You fought bravely today, Tauriel," Legolas said eventually, not looking at her. She watched the flames dance in his dark eyes and gleam red in his golden hair with a pang of sorrow. Did he care for her as King Thranduil had said? He was still the most beautiful elf she had ever seen and her heart ached. There had been a time, not so long ago, that she had believed herself in love with Legolas, but she had known it was a match that was never to be made. She found it ironic that the next person she had fallen in love with was a dwarf and much further beyond her reach than any elf might ever have been.

"As did you, my Prince," she said kindly and he glanced briefly at her face. An awkwardness fell between them which had not existed before the fateful day they had captured the company of Thorin Oakenshield and she mourned its lost. She felt she was losing an important friendship but seemed ill equipped to save it.

There was the rustle of cloth as the tent flap was lifted and they both turned to find the daunting visage of Dáin Ironfoot, Chieftain of the Ironhills, surveying them critically. Tauriel has heard many tales of the dwarf's deeds but had never seen him in person. He seemed as hard and unflinching as stone, with wild gray hair and dented armor. He stepped gruffly aside, hardly sparing either elf a glance, and Balin followed behind him. The old dwarf had been divested of his armor and was once more the humble diplomat in robes of fur and silk. His face was a mask of stoic grief and he seemed aged many more years since last she had seen him.

He met Tauriel's gaze and said, "King Thorin has died as has his nephew, and heir, Prince Fíli."

Now Balin moved aside and a figure, taller than either of the other dwarves before him, moved slowly into the firelight and Tauriel resisted the urge to rush forward. Kíli's face was pale, drawn and lifeless. Gone was the carefree dwarf she had met, who'd flirted and jested, he seemed only a shadow of himself. Tauriel had never seen such grief or such sorrow and her very being ached with the pain of it. Had she the power, she would have taken his pain and born it herself.

"I give you," said Balin, in a voice that trembled, "Kíli, son of Fínor, King… Under the Mountain."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Artwork in this chapter provided by the wonderful http://irrel.tumblr.com/ who creates amazing pieces of Kiliel art; be sure to give her a look!


	2. Question of Ascension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize I didn't get this out sooner! Had a rather surprising personal matter come up in the form of a Christmas marriage proposal. Which, for the record, I'm incredibly excited about, but it does have it's share of responsibilities. Spent much of the past few days moving into my fiancé's place and informing an endless sea of family and friends of the good news. :D
> 
> That being said, thank you so very, very much for the amazing feed back I received for the first chapter of this fic. It was a wonderful surprise and I hope you all will enjoy this next installment!

_If this is to end in fire_

_Then we should all burn together_

_Watch the flames burn auburn on_

_The mountain side high._

_-I See Fire,_

_Ed Sheeran_

* * *

" **I** give you," said Balin, in a voice that trembled, "Kíli, son of Fínor, King… Under the Mountain."

Dáin Ironfoot snorted loudly, startling Tauriel and eliciting a deep, disapproving frown from Balin.

"We haven't finished discussing this matter, Balin," the old Chieftain said in a hoarse, gravelly voice and departed without another word or a single glance at any of them. Tauriel looked from Balin to Legolas to Kíli in confusion but no one appeared to be interested in enlightening her. No one even wanted to _look_ at her. The silence stretched till she could no longer bear it.

She stood and, gritting her teeth against her aches and strains, cut Kíli a short bow. Her keen ears caught Legolas's disapproving hiss but she ignored it.

"My condolences, King Kíli, for your tremendous loss. May the Valar bring you comfort and peace," she said and raised her head slowly, suddenly self-conscious. She met Kíli's gaze and found a flicker of the tenderness he'd once possessed before he bowed stiffly in return.

"Thank you, Tauriel, for everything you have done for me and my kinsmen." He rose and the tenderness was gone. He would not meet her eye. She wanted to say something, anything, to ease his grief, to assure him he still had those who cared. Who could believe in him, though she could not understand why she felt so sure of him. She hardly knew him, really, but since the fateful day she'd rescued him from the spiders in Mirkwood, she had been drawn to him. As irrevocably as the tides to the moon.

"Excuse me… I would see to my Uncle… and b-brother." He barely managed to get the word out and stepped sharply away from her without looking back, disappearing into the setting night so swiftly he seemed born of shadows. Tauriel could hear the sounds of celebration crest into the dark and they seemed somehow irreverent and cruel. So many had lost their lives, what cause was there to celebrate? She stepped after Kíli, not entirely sure what she meant to do, but Balin stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Let him go lass, he needs a moment alone. He's still in shock."

Tauriel flushed and moved away from his touch, closer to the fire, her emotions confusing and distorted. She was unused to being so uncertain of herself. Long years had passed since she'd felt so conflicted, so… _lost_.

Legolas chose that moment to speak, drawing her attention. "Dáin of the Ironhills is laying claim to Erebor, isn't he?"

Balin opened his mouth to respond, but it was another, more familiar voice that answered him.

"Yes, he is Legolas, and a valid claim he has. Thorin's nephew is barely considered an adult even among his own people and knows nothing of governing."

"Father," Legolas said, rising to bow to King Thranduil as he exited the tent and Tauriel did the same. She both agreed and disagreed with her King and it tore at her. Kíli was indeed very young, how young she didn't know, but much younger than the others of his wayward company she was sure. But she couldn't believe he didn't have a deep and abiding understanding for the needs of his people. While imprisoned he'd told her wonderful tales of his years abroad, working as bodyguard and smithy as he'd grown, speaking quietly of the hardships his people had overcome with pride and promise. Carefree, Kíli might have been, but he was not a child nor was he a stranger to the demands of leadership. He had, after all, grown in the shadow of his Uncle, whom, whatever else he might have been, was inarguably a great leader. And who better to lead a kingdom than he who did not want it, she wondered.

She watched as Balin bristled and drew himself up to his full height, which brought him, maybe, to her rib cage, "It is not a matter for Elves to decide, King Thranduil, and Kíli is a direct descendant of the strongest line of Durin. He is the last living heir of his bloodline and the one who should be King of Erebor."

Thrandruil's lip curled in disdain, his angelic face twisted slightly in anger, "A line poisoned with greed and gold lust which has brought your people only ruin and misery. That line has been polluted since Durin's Bain and the fall of _Hadhodrond_."

Balin's face turned an alarming shade of red but it was Tauriel, much to everyone's surprise, especially her own, who spoke, "I do not believe Kíli suffers from the treasure lust of his forefathers."

Three sets of eyes turned her way, ranging from fury to confusion to acute disapproval. She lifted her chin, unwilling to take back her words now that they were spoken.

"And what would you know of such things, Tauriel?" Thrandruil asked, his voice laced with displeasure.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when she would have bowed and heeded him, but over the last decade, worry and suspicion had driven her increasingly toward derision. Thrandruil was not the King of her youth; he was not the man who had all but raised her. He seemed recently taken by common pettiness and scorn, utterly cut off and uninterested in the world outside their diminutive lands. Tauriel, who had always dreamed of more than familiar halls of old trees and the same sea of faces, had, over the past hundred years, found herself dissatisfied with the life of a Silvan elf under the rule of a Sindarin King. She longed for something different, something more.

"Very little perhaps, my King, but I have come to know the dwarf Kili and I think it easy for any who wish to see that he is free of that darkness which plagued his Uncle," she said, rising to stand tall in his presence. She could feel Legolas's warning eyes like daggers from her side.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed perilously and he stepped closer to her, the dancing fire eliciting unpleasant shadows on his ethereal face. Tauriel resisted the urge to take a step back and lifted her chin in stubborn defiance. Those around them seemed to be holding their breaths. Tauriel had to wonder at her own insubordination, while dissatisfied of late, she knew she was crossing a line far from mere insolence. What had come over her?

"You presume much, Tauriel, it is not for your kind to question the judgment of those wiser and better than yourself. I have allowed you much responsibility and freedom… perhaps too much." He said in Sindarin and there was a shadow across his face that cowed her fleeting bravery.

She ducked her head quickly, face flushing and heart pounding, "I apologize, my King, I intended no disrespect…"

"Please, father, she is battle weary and not herself," Legolas interceded and she shot him a glance. His countenance was pleading and shame washed through her. She should not have spoken thusly but there was no help for it now.

Thranduil was silent for several tense moments before saying slowly, "In light of today's events perhaps some… _understanding_ can be given. Leave us now Tauriel, and find rest, this is not a topic meant for your debate." The Elven King said in a clipped tone and grateful, Tauriel bowed low, not daring to glance at his face.

She left quickly, not looking again at either Legolas or the dwarf, and wound blindly through the tents. _Valar save me, what is the matter with me?_ She hadn't gone far when a gruff voice stopped her, "You did us a service lass, speaking thus, perhaps not all Elves are to be mistrusted…" She turned and found the fearsome Dwalin appraising her from the shadows, likely waiting for his kinsmen. He, of all the dwarves in his party, seemed the most ferocious.

For some reason Tauriel resented his statement, as though he were accusing her of betraying her own kind. Her already frayed emotions frazzled further and she longed desperately for isolation. "I merely spoke the truth, dwarf, nothing more," she said harshly.

The tattooed dwarf simply smirked at her, the moon shining off his bald cap and the gruesome edge of his war axe, "Whatever you say lass."

She sent him an icy glare and continued on her way, tired of dwarves and their brusque manners and imprudent impudence.

* * *

**A** lone in her small tent, located on the outskirts of the Elven camp, Tauriel undressed slowly. She removed her armor with practiced fingers and set each piece aside with care. One of her subordinates might have helped, but she saw no reason to bother them. Every Elven warrior would be faced with his or her own pain this night and they deserved their own measure of comfort and solitude. It had been many years since her people had seen the sort of loss among their kind as they had this night, at least not in Tauriel's lifetime.

She missed the company of her Prince and their formerly easy kinship, longing for his comforting words and sound advice. Once, she had seen him as a sort of elder brother, a mentor, and eventually as a well-respected peer, a friend even. Now there existed a vastness between them she could not breech. She felt changed, different, disjointed; all because of one ill mannered and strangely handsome dwarf.

Or was it? She mused, considering the growing unease she'd largely ignored over the past decade as she'd combated a seemingly endless population of giant spiders and other foul things. Her heart had been troubled long before the arrival of Thorin Oakenshield and his wayward kin, she admitted, though their meeting seemed a catalyst. Not merely for her, but for many things, it had simply caught her up in its wake and she seemed powerless to break free.

Tauriel groaned in relief when she was at last free of all but her cotton under things, which were matted with sweat and the odd splattering of goblin and orc blood. She had never been so weary or so distraught. She longed for sleep as, being an elf, she so rarely did. She envied the humans and dwarves in their respective camps that were able to find peace and rest where she could not. Among her kind she was not considered _old_ by any means, a mere six hundred years to match the thousands her king had seen, but this night, under the unfamiliar weight of war, she felt _old_.

Someone, Valar bless them, had left her warmed water and towels as well as fresh night robes. Taking up a soft cloth and wetting it in the tepid water, she began the process of washing blood from her face and body. She longed for a true bath, in the underground hot springs of Mirkwood, where she could scrub the filth of battle from herself but took comfort, at least, in the small amenities her situation allowed. When she was finished, all of the towels near black, she slipped out of her under things and drew the silk robes over her chilled frame. She then meticulously loosed her hair of its battle braids and took up a comb.

She had just begun to navigate the tangles of her hair when a soft voice called her name from just outside her tent.

"Yes?" She called and a familiar face peered at her from a partially raised tent flap. Tauriel attempted a smile though even she knew it wavered.

"Hello Luríena, _"_ she said as kindly as her present mood allowed. The young elf maiden smiled in kind and stepped noiselessly into her tent. She wore a fine lawn gown with her lovely, long brown hair braided and fastened at her neck. Only the blood stained smock she wore over her gown told of her time in the healer's tent.

"I came to assure myself that you are well," Luríena said and took her comb from her before Tauriel could protest. She was well practiced at brushing Taurile's hair, as she had done it many, many times when they were children, and did so with a gentle touch that she herself could never manage. She had never been soft or sweet, not like Luríena, she'd always been tough and brash. As children they had played endlessly, Luríena always the beautiful princess and Tauriel her gallant rescuer wielding a fearsome sword derived from a wooden branch. Her friend was sweet and kind where Tauriel was reckless and opinionated, always getting into trouble and exasperating her caretakers. Tauriel seemed born toward violence where Luríena seemed created by the Valar specifically to heal and bring peace. The healing she'd done for Kíli's arrow wound had come only as a half knowledge from Luríena, otherwise she would have known nothing at all. Death seemed all she was capable of…

"You are troubled my friend," Luríena murmured, her thin fingers gentle against her scalp, soothing and kind.

Tauriel's eyes closed under her ministrations and she frowned slightly, "There is much to be troubled about, these past days have been dark indeed."

"Yes," her friend said with true sorrow in her musical voice, "Many of our friends and kin died and more still suffer, but there is a different worry that troubles you Tauriel, you cannot hide it from me. You do not seem yourself."

Tauriel tensed and only the faint sound of the comb dragging through her long fiery hair filled a pressing silence. She knew not what to say as she could hardly form her thoughts together, they were so disoriented.

"I-" she stopped, hesitating further, "I feel…. lost, nothing seems clear to me any longer…"

She trailed off. She rarely expressed her emotions to others, long viewing it as a mark of weakness; a leader was supposed to be fearless and driven, not frightened and listless. Luríena's hands stilled their attentions and came to rest lightly on her shoulders, "You have been through much over the past weeks, more than I can likely imagine, perhaps… perhaps you are only weary and require the peace of home."

Tauriel sighed, thinking of home with a mixture of longing and disdain. She missed the comforts provided but not the cost at which they came. Now, caught up in the world outside, she was reluctant to return to close rooms and tightly shut gates. There was so much to see, to do, to become.

"Perhaps…" she said vaguely, opening her eyes to watch the lantern light cast warmth over pale tent walls.

Luríena squeezed her shoulders gently before methodically braiding sections of her hair in the manner she preferred and said, "Take heart my friend, the darkness has passed and the enemy lies defeated, peace will return to these lands."

A feeling of disquiet washed over her as her friend spoke, and a chill crept up her spine like the malicious slinking of a spider over its web. "Has it? Has it passed?" she asked, more to herself than Luríena, whom had set the comb aside and now stood before her, studying her with deep blue eyes brimming with affection and concern.

"Or is this merely the first of many battles, the first taste of a coming storm. Perhaps the darkness never truly left us at all."

* * *

**T** he following morning, Tauriel led a detail of elves through the battlefield to gather the remainder of those who had fallen. To her surprise, Legolas accompanied them.

"I was sure you'd be caught in meetings and important political deliberations," she said to him as she motioned one of the other elves toward a pile of goblin corpses. Legolas grimaced. He wore no armor today, only his simple hunting gear in muted tones of green and brown with his knives at his back and bow slung over his shoulder. Others, men and dwarves, picked their way through the carnage with the same dismal purpose.

"That was indeed my intended fate but my father took pity and felt it might bolster moral to have me out here helping as I may… that it might ease any pain or grief." His face was somber and his gaze flighty.

Tauriel surveyed the vast destruction, the Lonely Mountain looming over them and the shattered Gate of Erebor a gaping wound in the mountainside. Even she, an elf maiden, felt a certain reverence in the mountain's shadow, grasping a sense of its former grandeur and all that was lost. She had never seen Erebor at the height of its formidable glory, nor at any time since, and she felt a pang that it might never meet such grandeur again. Which, as was wont to happen of late, led her to think of Kíli. He would be King of this ruined, desecrated kingdom. She could not imagine the weight of such a burden and her heart ached for him terribly.

In a manner very unlike herself, she longed to see him. To look upon his face and offer what words of comfort she could.

"Captain!" one of the guards called suddenly, drawing her attention. She turned, recognizing her caller as Estolion, one of her company, and she and Legolas hurried toward him.

He was standing over a broken body that bore a familiar face and a soft moan of sorrow escaped her before she could subdue it. Legolas braced a comforting hand on her shoulder as they knelt.

"Káltheon," she said quietly, and reached out to close the dead elf's vacant eyes, reflecting briefly on his training, which she had once seen to personally. He had been an apt and willing pupil, one of her favorites, in fact. He would not have died easily, and that brought her some measure of comfort.

"He should not have died in such a place," Estolion said with a voice coated in grief and anger. He was a young elf, barely of age, and his fair face was pale, his dark hair unkempt and lank. War had a heavy price for those unsuited for it and few had the bearings to withstand its casualties.

"No," Legolas said, "He should not have. But he died in protection of our lands and our people, his death was noble and honorable. He would not wish us to mourn his passing."

They passed another moment in respectful silence, a chill breeze carrying the ill scents of dead and carnage like a morbid perfume. She longed to be free of the place.

"Gather a cart for him," Tauriel said at last, "Tonight we will say our final farewells to he and all the others who fell. He is at peace now, Estolion, in the lands of our fathers across the sea. Take heart, we've a long day of grim work ahead of us." Her voice was stern and the elf seemed to rally himself. Tauriel was proud of him and she and Legolas watched him hurry off to fetch a cart as she'd commanded.

"They mean to bury Thorin and his nephew tomorrow evening," Legolas said quietly as they moved on, shifting and overturning goblin corpses as they went. Tauriel examined a fine knife pulled from the maw of a Warg and found it hard to meet his eye. His tone was carefully neutral. "Deep within the caverns of Erebor, we're told, my father and the man Bard from Lake Town have been granted attendance."

"What of the matter concerning Kíli and Chieftain Dáin?" she asked, unable to help herself. She was near desperate for information.

Legolas clinched his jaw and kicked idly at a crude sword, obviously of goblin make. "It is still undecided, Kíli refuses to discuss the matter until after his Uncle and brother are laid to rest." His tone indicated he thought this foolish and her temper prickled. Why did he always feel inclined to be so harsh toward them, she wondered, before remembering that, not so long ago, she had felt very much the same.

"Surely the matter could wait till then. After all, they were his family, he should be allowed a grieving period—" she reasoned, voice heated before he interrupted.

"If he truly wishes to be King he will have to set aside all personal matters. The dwarves of the Ironhills and the men of Lake Town grow impatient over the treasure horde within. They have sustained heavy damages, as have we, many of which might have been avoided if Thorin had not-"

Tauriel gasped in outrage, "You cannot mean to blame this battle on Kíli and their company, can you? That was an evil long in the planning, Legolas, anyone can see that. Though made easier by the death of Smaug, it certainly was not the cause."

Legolas shook his head at her, anger in his lovely eyes, "You are so quick to defend them Tauriel. Tell me, would any of this have come to pass if it were not for the greed of Thorin Oakenshield as his kin? A greed which, no matter what you might say, his nephew is destined to inherit."

Tauriel threw her hands up in exasperation, "Who is to say they would not have taken the human town and then dared to breech our kingdom with no dwarven involvement whatsoever? Our walls are strong, Legolas, but our hold over the forest has grown weak. It is not the Greenwood of old-"

Legolas was suddenly just before her, his face so close she was forced to tilt hers back to see him properly. Her breath caught. "Whatever is between you and that dwarven _child_ Tauriel, it cannot be," he said at a fierce whisper. He held her gaze, his eyes passionate and dark, and they drifted toward her mouth in a manner with which Tauriel was familiar. With a shock, she withdrew from him as though wounded.

Berating herself for her words and actions, she did the only thing she could think to do. She denied them.

"I feel nothing for a dwarf, child or otherwise," she said, her back turned to him as she attempted to regain herself. "I merely grow tired of laying blame on others and keeping none for ourselves. Long have we seen signs of a darkness and danger from Dol Guldur and long have we done _nothing_. And that is not even revisiting the day Smaug took this thrice forsaken mountain and our people arrived only to turn our backs on the suffering of both Dale and Erebor. Are we not equally to blame for this atrocity in recompense for our own indifference?"

She did not realize she was crying till she turned toward Legolas and saw the bewildered disbelief on his face and quickly turned away again. She did not see the look of hopeless longing in his eyes, nor hear his call for reconcile because a messenger arrived just as he opened his mouth to speak. The elf bowed low to them both.

"King Thranduil requests you attend to him, my Prince." He paused as Tauriel turned to face him, his expression was guarded, "You as well, Captain."

She and Legolas exchanged glances and she felt the gap between them growing with each passing second.

"Of course," she told the messenger, quickly wiping away her tears, her voice emotionless, "Whatever my King commands."


	3. The Burial of Thorin Oakenshield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were few complaints about the lack of Kili last chapter, which I totally understand, because I love him too, but fear not, he stars heavily in this one. Enjoy this bit of fluff and drama as we will at last find the plot in the following chapter (hurray!).
> 
> A special shout out to Arkana2 who did me the supreme honor of translating this into German. And sorry Arkana... but this chapter is even longer ;). Thank you times a bazillion for all of the reviews everyone, you keep the muse alive and the writing confidence up. Please, if any of you find discrepancies within this fic, let me know. Some may have been intentional but others might have stemmed from pure ignorance.

_And if the night is burning_   
_I will cover my eyes_   
_For if the dark returns_   
_Then my brothers will die_   
_And as the sky is falling down_   
_It crashed into this lonely town_   
_And with that shadow upon the ground_   
_I hear my people screaming out._

_-I See Fire, Ed Sheeran_

* * *

 

**T** auriel's parents were returning from an extended stay in Loríen when the Orc party attacked. Only her mother's body had been recovered and it was so mutilated she had not been allowed to see it. Her mother had been a fiery, intelligent She-Elf with a quick tongue but a kind heart, and a prominent political figure among their people. Her father had been an accomplished fighter but his true passion had come from reading and study. She'd been very young, not yet mature by Elven standards, when word had reached them of the attack, and their loss had nearly killed her.

When her parents had departed on their trip without her, Tauriel had been furious, even refusing to come down from her room to see them off. It was something she would come to regret her entire life and would haunt her dreams for many long years to come.

When she had faded to near death, the King Thranduil himself had come to her bedside. He'd drawn her back toward light and life with warmth and song. He had given her a reason to live. He had given her dreams and hopes of revenge.

She had then been put under the care of the Watch Warden and, in part, the Prince Legolas, allowing her to grown and learn almost as one of the family. But she had never forgotten the horror of her parents' deaths, nor of the creatures responsible. She'd dedicated her life, her existence, to her weapon's craft, becoming the best hand with a sword by the time she was allowed to enter the Royal Guard and second only to Legolas himself in bow craft. But it was not enough.

Prior to her induction as Captain of the Guard, Tauriel had gone on a mission of retribution under the guise of a hunting trip. Only Legolas had been suspicious. The Prince had followed her through the forests to the base of the Grey Mountains where she had received word that a large encampment of Orcs had been spotted.

As she'd camped her last night in the forest, intent on seeking her revenge the following morning, the Elven Prince had stepped out of the shadows silently to sit at her fire. Tauriel had not been surprised. She'd suspected he might follow her as he knew her moods and temperament better than any other.

She'd merely handed him a share of the roasted rabbit and a portion of her wine.

"This will not be the end of it, Tauriel," he had said after a silent span, "Whether you slay this Orc party or not there will be more, there will always be more."

Tauriel had said nothing; she'd merely glared into the fire, refusing to be dissuaded. How could he understand? The Orcs had taken everything from her, they had left her without a family, they had stolen all her hopes and cares and left nothing but a shell fused by bitterness and violence.

"Tauriel," Legolas had said her name in a tone that demanded her attention, a tone that told her he was speaking to her not as her friend and mentor, but as her Prince. "If you continue down this path of retaliation you will lose yourself in it. This hunger in you will never be satisfied and eventually you will become a creature barely recognizable, even to yourself. You can hunt and kill every Orc in Middle-Earth but it will not return your parents to you."

Furious, Tauriel had risen to her feet, tossing her wine skin into the flames. "What would you know of my pain!" she'd cried. "We hide in our forest as those vile creatures roam these lands and do nothing. I will kill every Orc that comes within a league of these woods. I will show them the same mercy they showed my mother."

Tauriel had taken up her sword and bow and raced into the night without another word or thought. Fury and anger had driven her to rashness, years of pent bitterness adding speed to her every step.

She'd found the Orc party easily enough and she had taken them by clear surprise. They were only fifteen in total but she had not been herself, she had not been thinking clearly. She had slain half of them when she'd taken a blow to her thigh, knocking her flat and sending her toward unconsciousness. Only Legolas's intervention had saved her. With little effort he'd killed the remainder of the Orcs and was at her side before she had truly comprehended he was there at all.

Surrounded by the rank bodies of her victims, Tauriel had broken down into graceless, agonizing sobs. Legolas had taken her into his arms and held her gently all through the long night, whispering soft words of comfort, forgiveness and understanding. Later, when she had fallen into an exhausted, meditative state, he had tended to her wounds. The following day they'd returned home and Legolas had told his father, the King, she had sustained the injury during a hunting accident.

Neither of them ever spoke of the Orcs again and Tauriel had let the vengeance in her heart die. She'd finally allowed her parents to rest peacefully, knowing they had forgiven her for her anger that fateful day and would want her to live a life full of happiness and harmony, not of anger and violence. She had dedicated her life from that moment on to protecting that peace, to protecting her people.

Now, beneath the fading light of a familiar sky, as the first stars flickered into existence, she felt a touch of that bitterness again. She had taken a moment alone among the scattered rocks of the mountain, having just seen to the final preparations of the mass funeral that was soon to take place in the glade nearby, and she could not help the thoughts of vengeance. So many of her people had died, so many she had been unable to save. Just like her parents all those hundreds of years before. Under the weight of so many lost, she felt as helpless as she had the day she'd been told of their deaths.

"I did not think a dwarf could surprise an elf," said a low voice that seemed fate driven and Tauriel turned toward the one person she had managed to save. The shroud of self pity and doubt lifted so quickly, it left her dazed.

He stood among the stones in the fading sunlight dressed in shades of deep blue and silver. His hair and beard had been combed and trimmed with bright gems and beads, like captured stars, braided into his inky mantle. She wondered idly who would have had such an honor, as she knew the braiding of another's hair was considered an act of intimacy among his people, with his Uncle and brother gone, but pushed the dismal thought aside.

Kíli looked more himself today, though there remained a hollowness in his gaze that had not been present upon their first meeting. But his face had more color and the smile he gave her, while small, was sincere. It lifted her heart and she returned his smile with a soft one of her own. Of all those she had not managed to save, she would thank the Valar every day of her long life that she had managed to save the dwarf man before her.

"And who says I am surprised?" she countered, though in truth she had not heard him approach.

He smirked a bit and came to stand beside her, walking with his hand idly on the hilt of a sword she recognized. He must have sensed the direction of her gaze for he said, in a hard voice, "Yes, I have been given his sword. Though I protested… greatly, but it seems very few care what I want."

He paused, looking into the falling night with bitterness. "It ought to be buried with him. It is not a sword I am worthy to carry."

Standing he came to just under her chin, but something about him, today especially, made her feel oddly small in comparison. Like most dwarves he was stocky, though not nearly as much as many of his kinsmen, with broad shoulders, wide hands and large feet. No, there was nothing small or weak about Kíli, she realized.

"Do you not think your Uncle would want you to have it?" she asked tentatively, not at all sure what to say to him. She had longed to see him, yes, but she had not expected to, especially here, and found she knew not how to act.

He glanced at her and there was a newly gained oldness in his countenance that tugged at her heart. "I am not sure what my Uncle would have wanted, he was not himself… toward the end. Though I believe he reclaimed much of his honor before… well," he trailed off, looking away from her.

"Kíli," she said and hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder, "You cannot carry the weight of the dead, believe me when I say it is a fruitless and endless endeavor."

He tensed and Tauriel thought he might shrug off her words as well as her touch, but he surprised her by placing one of his calloused hands over hers and squeezing her fingers tenderly. Tauriel had never felt particularly delicate or fragile among her own kind, but seeing his large hand covering hers, she felt oddly… feminine.

He was silent for a long moment but she could tell he was working himself up to saying something and she knew what it would be before he finally said it.

"I don't want to be King, Tauriel," he said quietly but with a gruff harshness that she understood was meant to cover the truth of his vulnerability. "I was not raised to ever inherit. I spent all my life in exile, working odd jobs to support my mother, following after Fíli," he nearly choked on the name, and angled his face from hers. "As much as I wanted to go on this quest, I never considered what it would mean for me if we actually succeeded. I know I was born a Prince, but unlike my Uncle, I never felt like royalty... I never considered myself much of anything really. I never gave any real thought to my future. I only ever wanted to support my Uncle and brother, to be of some use to those far greater than I."

He turned again toward her and she saw the unshed tears in his eyes. "Tauriel, I know nothing of ruling. I would give Erebor to Chieftain Dáin, he is a legend among dwarves and would rule my people with dignity and fairness. But Balin and the others would be heartbroken; they claim they would not follow him, that none of those in Ered Luin would."

He seemed at an utter loss, his expression dismal and his shoulders slumped in defeat. She turned her hand in his and gripped it tight, speaking before she gave real thought to what she was saying. "Many of us are placed in situations we are not prepared for, Kíli, that does not mean we cannot fill them adequately. You have the blood of Kings in your veins, and your humility might save you and your people from the mistakes of your pasts, the mistakes of your forefathers. Who is not to say you might aid in returning the dwarves to their former glory?" She offered him a smile, though she knew neither the brightness of it, nor the way it lifted the dwarf's heart and gave him courage. "I see in you the makings of a great King if you will but have the courage to try. I know you would make your Uncle… and brother, proud."

His eyes shone at her words and his fingers threaded through hers. Her heart was loud in her ears and her stomach trembled as they stared deeply into one another's eyes. She faintly understood what was happening to her but another, more rational part of her cried out against it. Elves bonded but once in their lives, and theirs was a bond that could never be.

Her rescue came as a horn call from across the field and she looked up in alarm at the darkness of the sky. She gently disentangled her hand from his.

"I-I must go," she said, stepping awkwardly away from him, the spell between them broken. He smiled a little, lowering the hand she had held slowly, and bowed to her.

"Of course. I am sorry for the loss of so many of your people, I wish there was something I could do to honor them."

Touched, she said, "You would honor them by not allowing their deaths to be in vain."

He tilted his head, obviously puzzled, and she expanded, "Rebuild your kingdom and show friendship toward my people. Heal the wounds of the past and help in the protection of these lands."

He considered this for a brief moment, then bowed again, lower this time and there was odd air of regal formality about him, "If King Under the Mountain I am destined to be, then I swear to you, Tauriel of the Woodland realm, I will endeavor to cultivate a lasting friendship with your people and I will honor those who have fallen here in defense of my kingdom."

She offered him a bow she typically would have reserved for her own King, refusing to consider what such an action implied. When they had both risen they exchanged another long, lingering look, filled with unspoken feelings and barely acknowledged longing. She gave him one last, tentative smile, and then departed quickly. Neither of them noticed the gaze of a certain Elven Prince who had come in search of his wayward Captain.

* * *

 

**T** he following morning Tauriel oversaw the breakdown of their camp. The company of elves, whom were usually organized and well mannered, seemed to Tauriel a chaotic mass of ill tempered elflings incapable of following even the simplest of orders.

"No Várin, you may not demand that the humans provide you with a horse. They have few enough as it is and you are perfectly capable of walking," she told one particularly grumpy warrior who then left her, grumbling irritably under his breath. Tauriel couldn't help but let out an exasperated huff of her own.

Luríena, who stood at her side directing the other healers on where to place specific herbs in their packs, chuckled. "Just think," she said, "soon we will be back at home where at least you can yell at them in the comfort of our own halls."

Tauriel smirked, placing her hands on her hips, "If they behaved like this at home I would have each and every one of them imprisoned. And I would take away all their combs and mirrors."

"Careful, if our male counterparts were unable to primp themselves every few hours they might fade away. Besides, I'm not certain we have enough cells."

"I never said they would be comfortable, I'd stack them one atop the other until they learned their lessons. In fact, the more I think on it, the better it sounds."

The other elf laughed brightly and stretched her back wearily. "You seem better today," she commented, "More yourself, I am glad."

Tauriel flushed a bit. "Yes well, perhaps you are right. With the prospect of being home in my own bed on the horizon, it is hard not to feel cheery." She was not certain this was, in fact the reason, but Luríena was right, she did feel more herself. She also refused to consider it had anything to do with her encountering a certain dwarf prince the night before.

Her friend nodded, sniffing at a bit of lavender before slipping into a small slot in her belt.

"You are to attend the King tonight for the burial of the dwarf lords, aren't you?"

Tauriel cringed. She had been trying not to think on it. "Yes, later this afternoon."

"I am somewhat jealous," said her friend, and Tauriel looked at her in shock. "Not about the funeral part, but that you will get to see inside of Erebor. It is supposed to be a great wonder to behold."

"From what I understand it is in near ruin," added Yurlióne, one of the other healers, his pale faced pinched with weariness.

"Still," Luríena said with a wistful sigh, "You must tell me all about it Tauriel."

Tauriel couldn't help but smile at her friend's interest, finding she too was looking forward to seeing inside the great dwarven halls.

They worked well into the morning, only stopping for a short meal at midday before preparing the last of the carts and ensuring everyone had properly folded and packed their tents –which was a feat unto and of itself as many of her men thought piling a crumpled mess to the backs of the mounts was acceptable. As the afternoon progressed, Tauriel grew more and more nervous. She both did and did not wish to see Kíli again. She knew the funeral would be deeply painful for him, a pain she did not want to witness if only for the fact that, with her King and Prince present, she would not be able to offer him any means of comfort. But also because each time she saw him, her thoughts and feelings became more confused and frightening. If anything, she only longed for home so that she might escape the emotions he invoked within her.

Before she knew it, however, the moment had arrived. Dressed in her armor of light steel, which one of her subordinates had polished to a high shine for her, she awaited her King and his son outside their tent, which was the only one that remained. Several other elves stood near her, though they didn't speak to her and talked quietly amongst themselves. They were to pack their lord's possessions in his absence and then they would all catch the main procession as they headed toward home after they had paid their respects.

Tauriel gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, attempting to contain her nerves. Moments later Thranduil and Legolas exited the tent, also dressed in freshly cleaned armor, and, with three more guards in tow, they headed for the Gate of Erebor.

Tauriel walked behind her King and Prince as Legolas leaned slightly to one side and said to his father in a hushed tone, "Do you believe he will accept it?"

Thranduil inclined his head slightly, though she could not read his expression, "I believe he will, yes."

"And Chieftain Dáin is aware?"

"Aware yes, but in agreement he is not. He believes our little test will backfire but I have a plan which will ensure the outcome is in our favor."

Their conversation was halted as they neared the ruined Gate and a party of heavily armored dwarves met them in the shadows of headless, disembodied statues. The half a dozen dwarves did little to hide their distaste and spoke only to one another in whispers using their harsh sounding tongue. Tauriel, for her part, ignored them; she was too busy contemplating the overheard conversation with a sinking feeling of dread. She knew Thranduil did not want Kíli to become King Under the Mountain but she had not suspected he might go to lengths to ensure he did not.

These worries were momentarily forgotten as they entered the ancient halls of Erebor. Tauriel could not help but stare in absolute wonder. Pillars, so high they disappeared into the darkness above, rose all around them. Gold glimmered in periodic rings around each pillar and even along the very floor itself in geometric patterns. Distant bridges and walkways rose about them, and many doors, leading to other chambers, appeared every few yards or so.

"Tauriel," Legolas whispered tersely, drawing her back to herself and she flushed as she realized she had fallen behind. She glanced briefly at one of their dwarf escorts to find him looking at her with a mixture of pride and respect. She offered him a small smile and a slight bob of her head before increasing her pace to catch up. They turned down several equally impressive halls, before at last reaching the ruined throne room.

If Tauriel had thought the main hall was impressive, it was nothing compared to the throne room itself. Though debris littered the pathways and many of the columns had fallen, it was a wonderful masterpiece of architecture. The Throne was molded from a pure golden vein that protruded from the ceiling above and had been crafted beautifully into a massive chair inlaid with many jewels. Even from their distance she could see the hollow place where the legendary Arkenstone had once rested.

Standing before the throne, below a short set of stairs, a company of dwarves awaited them. Most of whom Tauriel recognized. Kíli, Dáin, Balin and Dwalin stood at the forefront. As they approached, Kíli's eyes immediately drifted to hers, though she stood behind her King and Prince.

He looked much as he had the night before, though he now wore a fine velvet robe edged in fur and a gold and silver circlet, though not the crown of the King, over his fair brow. He looked handsome and regal indeed and she flushed, breaking their gaze and hoping none had noticed.

"King Thranduil of the Woodland realm," said Balin in greeting, bowing low, "We welcome you to the reclaimed halls of Erebor."

There was a tense silence before Balin nudged Kíli with his elbow. The dwarf Prince started a little and then bowed reluctantly in his turn, murmuring his own set of welcomes, followed by the Chieftain Dáin whom looked just as fierce and unpleasant as the last time she had seen him. It was not lost on Tauriel, who cut her own bow, that Thranduil and Legolas merely offered vague inclinations of their golden heads. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Men, she internally complained.

Pleasantries exchanged, if they could even be called that, Balin directed them away from the throne and down a partially ruined walkway. Aware of her duty, she kept her hand on her sword and a wary eye on the shadows. They walked in silence. Of the Dwarves, only Balin seemed inclined to speak to them, talking politely to the King and Legolas, who offered only clipped responses of their own. Otherwise the dwarves talked only amongst themselves in low voices. They used their deeply secretive native tongue and Tauriel wondered if even Thranduil knew what they said.

As they passed through magnificent halls and rooms, some, like a smithy or a meeting chamber, were easily identifiable. Others, like a massive room with strange copper and gold machinery, remained a mystery. Before long, however, she found herself staring at the back of Kíli's head, who, with Dwalin, led their group into the bowels of the mountain. She wondered at what he might be feeling, what he might be thinking, as they passed through the ancient halls of his ancestors, and she ached to speak to him, to offer him comfort.

Instead she reverted to old habits and thinking, tactically considering, if they were attacked, how they might escape, and kept track of every turn they made with forced attention.

At last, they reached the catacombs which were set behind a massive iron, silver and gold door marked with runes and pictures she couldn't begin to decipher. Together, Kíli, Dwalin, Balin and two others from their original party, pushed against the doors until they opened.

They filed into the long tunnel, which rose at least two yards above her head, and she stepped protectively ahead of her King with the other guards taking position directly behind. Legolas walked at her side, eyes wary. On either side, coffins of stone, gold, silver, marble and all manner of other stones and metals had been set into enclaves with runes marking each. She glanced at them briefly, marveling at the details of several. Elves burned their dead so the concept of elaborate burial chambers or containers was foreign to her.

When they reached the end of the main tunnel, torches were lit and dispersed and they walked on for a spell before they reached another set of doors. These, made of what could only be mithril, gleamed star-like in the light of the massive fire which had been lit from within.

"This, in the common tongue, is the Chamber of Fallen Kings," said Balin in poignant reverence.

They entered, and all the dwarves fell silent. They slowly approached twin coffins of gold that rose on a specially raised dais at the center of the room. Similar daises rose about the great cavern which was filled with many statues of precious metals and weapons of fine make. Tauriel considered that the only reason such treasures remained was because the catacombs were too small for Smaug to enter and claim, for which she was glad. This was a sacred place.

Their party progressed up the stone steps until at last they stood above the open caskets. Tauriel's throat tightened as she looked down upon the bedecked bodies of Thorin Oakenshield and his young nephew. Both wore brilliant mithril armor and fine, jeweled crowns. Flowers, blue and white, had been laid around them and their hair shone with beads and gems. Fíli held a battered sword that had obviously seen long years of use, and Thorin held a shining axe.

"Here, lies Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain," whispered Balin roughly with Kíli standing resolutely at his side as unabashed tears fell on his stoic face, "And Fíli, son of Fínor, Prince of Erebor and the Heir Apparent. May Mahal guide them both into the halls of their fathers and may they find peace at last."

The dwarves bowed their heads in silent reverence and grief. Tauriel followed suit, caught by the same emotions, though she suspected she was the only elf present who did so.

Following a long moment of respectful silence, Thranduil stepped forward at last, saying, "I would offer you, Kíli, son of Fínor, he who would be King Under the Mountain, this," he pulled a wonderfully glowing gem from within his robes and the dwarves gasped collectively in awe, their eyes glittering, "As a token of friendship and respect for those whom you have lost."

Her King bowed low but Tauriel caught a glimpse of his sneering smile and her blood went cold. This, she realized, was what he and Legolas had been discussing outside the Gate. They meant to show the dwarves that Kíli was, in fact, taken by the same gold lust as his forefathers, proving he was unfit to rule. She shuddered and resisted the urge to knock the stone from her King's hand as anger welled within her.

Her heart sank further as Kíli, his eyes wide and the gem's light casting a white light over his features, stepped forward with an outstretched hand. With only a brief hesitation, he took the stone and beheld it, saying in a breathless voice, "The Arkenstone…"

Tauriel wanted to cry out to him, beg him not to take it, to think of the mistakes his Uncle had made and those who had come before. But she could only watch in despair as he fell neatly into the trap her King and Prince had lain.


	4. Parting of Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just blown away by all the support and love this story has gotten. I can only hope I don't disappoint in the chapters to come. I would apologize for the cliffhanger buuuut… well, you'll see. :D Every chapter following the first has been for you, oh wonderful readers, reviewers and favoriters, and are likewise dedicated to you. And for all those I have managed to convert to Kíli/Tauriel… sorry I'm not sorry. ;)

_"So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."_  
_― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring_

* * *

 **T** he large tomb was as silent as its namesake, the living occupants within holding their collective breaths as Kíli stared into the glittering Arkenstone with blatant wonder. The faces around him ranged from awe and satisfaction to condemning disdain. Tauriel felt sick, her stomach coiling and tightening into dread filled knots as she questioned whether she had misjudged the young dwarven Prince entirely. Kíli's eyes glowed like sapphires whose depths were unfathomable, his fair face bathed in silvery light that was akin to the stars. His expression, however, was one filled with greed and ownership that clashed violently with the beauty he beheld.

The silence was broken by approaching footsteps and echoing voices. Alarmed, Tauriel and Legolas both turned with weapons drawn, he with taut bow and she with her glimmering Elven blade. The dwarves followed suit. Shadows bounced and rebounded off stone walls from approaching torches which were long and seemed deeply menacing. Tauriel, convinced it was a wayward pack of Orcs, or worse, cursed the enclosed halls of dwarves just as the two figures came into view.

One bore a gnarled wooden staff, a pointed gray hat and was very tall, his silvery scarf shining softly in the fire light of the torch he held. Beside him walked a creature diminutive and child like in stature with a mop of tousled brown hair and bare feet that scraped lightly on the dusty floor. Legolas let out a puff of air in relief and relaxed his bow. Tauriel followed suit and sheathed her sword, internally trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart.

"Ho now," said Gandalf the Grey, known to her people as Mithrandir, "I am deeply sorry we are late. It seems we were not given the correct hour." Bearded and aged, the wizard stood at the base of the steps and he shot a knowing, condemning look at a suddenly discomfited Dáin of the IronHills.

Balin pressed forward, "We had wondered where you'd gone Gandalf."

The wizard moved up the steps, his long robes travel stained and his boots worn, with the nervous Halfling at his side. Tauriel had developed a sort of fondness for the small creature after he had brought her King the Arkenstone to appease tensions between their people and the dwarves in Erebor. He was a simple thing with a kind and courageous heart that she admired. She offered him the slightest of smiles as their eyes met and he seemed to relax somewhat, giving her a nervous smile in return.

"Not far my friends, not far," he placed a hand on the old dwarf's shoulder in stoic companionship then turned to bow before Thranduil . He said in Sindarin, "Greetings Lord Thranduil, I am gladdened though rather surprised to see you here."

The Elven King inclined his head in kind, "I am pleased you could make it, Mithrandir, I thought perhaps you and the Halfling had already departed for his journey home."

Tauriel wondered if she were the only one who caught the slight twinkle in her King's eye or the not entirely forthcoming turn at the corner of his lips. She looked then to the Chieftain Dáin who had shifted imperceptibly behind two of his brethren as though hoping to be forgotten. Whatever plan the Dwarf Lord and Thranduil had concocted, they had not intended for the wizard to be present, that much was clear.

"I would not part before bidding Thorin and Fíli farewell," Gandalf said in the common tongue, "I had thought Bilbo and I might accompany you and your people home for a span."

Thranduil smiled graciously. "But of course, you and the Halfling are most welcome."

Gandalf nodded and the company parted so that he and the Hobbit might approach the tombs of their fallen friends.

"Ah Kíli, you've the Arkenstone I see," the wizard said, his tone light and unaffected, as though he were merely commenting on the weather or a stretch of particularly ordinary road. Tauriel, recalling the events preceding Mithrandir's arrival, cringed and turned to face the dwarven prince with trepidation in her heart. Kíli alone had not moved forward at the wizard's arrival but instead stood resolutely over the body of his Uncle, the Arkenstone held in one hand, casting bright light over Thorin's lifeless features. There was a peace and beauty to the fallen King's countenance that he had not possessed in life and Tauriel felt a twinge of pity for all that the stubborn King had suffered, even those devices which had been of his making.

"Gandalf," Kíli whispered, and there was a sort of painful pleading in his voice. Tauriel noted the tension in his face and understood the war that must have been raging within him. She found her hope rekindled.

Gandalf came round the great golden coffin and stood at the Prince's side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and looking with sorrow upon Thorin's form.

"He did not want you and your brother on this quest," Gandlaf said, as though the dwarf next to him were not pleading for salvation, his tone calm and soothing, "But I insisted that you two should come. You and Fíli reminded Thorin of his youth, of better times and his hopes for a brighter future. To him you two _were_ the future. I had hoped," he turned his gaze to meet Kíli's as everyone else stood in watchful silence, "That you and your brother might bring him back from the edge, curb the gold lust I knew lay dormant in his heart, and in the end, you did, Kíli. In the end his honor was restored."

Kíli looked away, tears fresh in his eyes and his gaze flickered from his Uncle's face to the Arkenstone. "Do not let him have died in vain," the wizard murmured so low she suspected only elven ears might have overheard.

The young dwarf let out a long, shuddering breath and, with a steady hand, placed the Arkenstone upon his Uncle's still chest, covering the great gem with the fallen King's battered hands. Tauriel felt relief and pride fill her so fully and so quickly that she could not hide the bright smile that bloomed on her face, and it was she whom Kíli turned to when his tasked was completed. In the glow of her smile, the doubt in his heart was lifted.

"Now lad," Dáin said, emerging at last from behind his guard, "That is the emblem of your line, the greatest of all treasures in Erebor."

"Aye, lad," said Dwalin in agreement, though he shot Dáin a withering glare, "Thorin would want you to have it."

"Aye, Thorin would wish you to keep it," agreed another dwarf who was wider than he was tall with a very intricately braided red beard.

"Aye," agreed yet another of his kin and Tauriel resisted the urge to knock their stubborn dwarven heads together.

Gandalf, looking perturbed and as if he might wish to do some head knocking of his own, opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another.

"My Uncle used to tell Fíli and me such wonderful tales of this place," Kíli said slowly, his voice wavering with sorrow." He would fill our heads with stories of our people and our forefathers, of all they had built and made here beneath the mountain. But when he spoke of his grandfather, our great-grandfather… he would do so with grief. He would tell us that, when Erebor fell, Thrór's greatest concern was not for his people but for their treasure and most of all… for the Arkenstone. He would tell Fíli and I… that it had corrupted Thrór's heart and mind, leaving him but a shadow of himself. And in the end… it corrupted Thorin's also."

Kíli held them all in rapt attention and when he looked up to survey his kin, his tears had dried and there was a strength in him Tauriel had long perceived. It warmed her heart in a way little else ever had.

"I do not know if I am fit to be King Under the Mountain, but I will not curse myself or any of my line to such a fate. The stone will remain with my Uncle and brother in the halls of our forefathers until the end of days. When the Lonely Mountain itself comes crashing down around us and the stars fall from the sky."

There was a deeply prophetic tone to his words as they echoed through the vast room and a chill crept up Tauriel's spine.

The dwarves seemed subdued, their heads bowed in reverence, save for perhaps Dáin, whose face bore an ill disguised resentment but he remained silent. Tauriel glanced at Thranduil, who merely looked serene, to Legolas who seemed confused and rather surprised. She tried not to feel smug, and failed.

"Well," Gandalf said kindly, breaking the spell, "Let us say our final farewells and allow Thorin and Fíli their well deserved rest."

And so, with heavy hearts, the dwarves set to the task of covering their kinsmen beneath finely carved gold. Each of the dwarves paid their final respects, several of them weeping in loud unashamed abandoned which seemed outside their character but she could hardly begrudge them. The Hobbit also said his goodbyes with bright tears on his youthful face and when he had finished he stood crestfallen and withdrawn beside the wizard who set a comforting arm about him. Kíli was the last to bid his farewells as he kissed first the head of his Uncle, murmuring something in his own tongue, and then stood staring with a bottomless sorrow at the visage of his elder brother. His pain and loss were so acute Tauriel found she was unable to watch and tears welled in her eyes. She bowed her head until she heard the telling scrape of shifting metal and the soft clang as the tomb was sealed, the sound of which reverberated into the accompanying silence like the final lingering note of a tragic song.

"And so end the days of Thorin, King Under the Mountain. Goodbye, my friend," said Gandalf in a gruff whisper that was filled with sadness and regret.

* * *

 **T** auriel welcomed the touch of sunlight like a healing balm as they at last stepped out from beneath the shadow of the mountain and into the winter wind. They walked through the remaining destruction of the great battle and Tauriel was grateful it was not she who would have to attend to its removal. Behind them trailed most of the dwarven company, though a few had stayed behind to quench the funeral fire and seal the ancient tombs. Gandalf and the Halfling walked side by side, the little Hobbit's face dismal and sad. All were silent. Near the ruins of Dale, Bard of Laketown awaited them with a company of rough looking men in tow. She wondered why he had not attended the funeral as well, but the man seemed ill at ease in the shadow the mountain and she thought perhaps he could not bear to step within. She could not blame him.

Bard bowed first to Thranduil and then to Kíli and Dáin. "I offer my sincerest condolences for your loss."

Kíli, his face stern said, "Thank you Bard, and we are sorry for the damage done to your town and for the loss of many human lives. I would offer you half the treasure of Erebor in recompense."

This response was met with astonishment and then outrage, specifically from his dwarven kin, whom he silenced with a hard stare that impressed even Tauriel. She had to marvel at the adaptability of the 'lesser' races at times as there was little sign of Kíli's previous hesitation or uncertainty.

Bard, for his part, was stunned and then deeply touched. "That is very generous of you… King Kíli," he bowed again, deeper this time and the Men around him followed suit. So much treasure would easily rebuild not only Laketown but Dale with much left over, she knew. She approved of the gesture whole-heartedly and knew it would go a long way in mending the ties between Man and Dwarf.

"We must depart now," Thranduil said airily, granting the human leader but a brief nod.

"I have a gift for you, my Lord," Kíli said as the Elven King turned his back with Legolas and the other guards behind him.

Thranduil turned and raised a brow, a sardonic sort of smile on his face. "What, Master Dwarf? Do you intend to gift me the remaining half of the treasure? It will not unmake the errors of your kinsmen nor return the dead amongst the living."

Kíli lifted his chin and drew from his cloak a magnificent emerald necklace that caught the faint winter sunlight like enchanted green fire. There was a chorus of indrawn breaths as they studied what could only be the famed necklace of Girion. Thranduil's eyes narrowed perceptively and he approached the stalwart dwarf imperiously.

"You offer me that which your Uncle denied, young dwarf, but for what intent? Seek you to placate ill deeds and harsh words with jewels and gifts?"

Kíli smirked and there was a challenging, mischievous glimmer in his eye. "I seek only to offer what should be given for services rendered, from one King… to another."

Thranduil scoffed a little and sneered, "Your Uncle allowed that which his grandfather suffered before him and you will be no different, Kíli son of Fínor, better that you let others rule the halls of your forefathers than allow them to fall once more into the hands of greed and deception."

There was an angry hiss from the dwarves at these words, and despite her misgivings on the matter, Tauriel took a protective step toward her King with her hand on her sword. But Kíli appeared unperturbed and held the necklace firmly between them as an unwavering peace offering.

"I made a promise, my Lord Elf, that I would endeavor to solicit a friendship between our two peoples, a promise that, being a _dwarf_ , I am too stubborn to ignore... despite thinking better of it." Tauriel felt her face grow hot and her pulse quicken at his words, recalling all they had said the night before.

For the first time that day, Thranduil looked surprised, though his expression quickly turned to mistrust and apprehension. "To whom did you make such a lofty promise, master dwarf?"

Kíli's eyes did not stray from the Elven King's as he spoke, saying, "To one whom I owe everything, my Lord, least of all my life."

Tauriel did her best to compose her features into something akin to disinterest but inside a war waged between equal parts happiness, embarrassment and uncertainty. She could not bear to look at Legolas or the others for fear they would somehow know of whom he spoke. Thranduil, for his part, seemed unconvinced.

"Well, we shall see if your word is worth more than that of your forefathers'. Though I have little doubt to the contrary," he said and turned his back, refusing to take the necklace himself and it was instead accepted by one of his guards. Legolas followed after his father without a word or a glance, not even to her. Tauriel cringed inwardly at the fury plastered on the other dwarves faces as she stepped after her King and Prince. If Kíli truly meant to kindle a friendship between their people he was in for a long hard battle. Dwarves were not known for being forgiving, or understanding. Neither, apparently, were Elves -despite all their lofty airs.

"My Lord Thranduil," Gandalf interceded quickly after they were several yards from the dwarves and humans, "might I have a private word?"

Her King looked like he wished to refuse, eager to be away from the mountain and its occupants no doubt, but said, "Certainly Mithrandir, we can speak there under those hanging rocks." They stepped away, leaving the other elves awkwardly to one side, until they were out of even their keen earshot.

Tauriel turned back toward the ruins of Dale and realized suddenly that this might be the last time she ever saw the dwarves. One dwarf in particular. She noted that he was also turned toward her, a little apart from his obviously arguing brethren, and she could feel his eyes upon her.

She clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders, as though she were about to head into a hard wind or perhaps a skirmish. With a steadying breath, she moved back up the rise.

"Tauriel," Legolas called after her sternly but she ignored him. Whatever she might have felt, she would not part from Kíli in such a manner. Her heart would not let her.

He met her halfway and they studied one another for a silent heartbeat.

"I'm sor-"

"Safe trav-"

They spoke simultaneously then stopped short, both offering small embarrassed smiles and flickering, uncertain glances. Once again, she knew not what to say to him.

He bowed sharply, his manner rather awkward. "My lady," he allowed.

She took a breath. "I... I just wanted to say how… proud I am of you. For your words and actions today, I can only imagine your pain and sorrow, but I wanted you to know that I believe your Uncle and brother would be proud too," she said haltingly feeling decidedly inelegant. Something about his presence made her feel like a gangly elfling, all long limbs and rash words.

His grief, held just beneath the surface, swam in his eyes for a raw moment before he forced it aside with a sigh. He offered her a shaky smile. "Thank you Tauriel, for everything. I owe you my life and much more besides. I only wish-" he hesitated, and rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck in a disarmingly sweet gesture, "I only wish we need not say goodbye." He met her gaze and held it, a question lingering there that was of yet, not entirely formed.

Tauriel felt a telling flutter in her stomach and a lightness of her heart that she could not deny, accompanied quickly by a responding sadness for everything she knew could not be.

"I-I wish the same… Kíli," she said. His eyes softened then filled with something deeper, something that called to something similar within her. Her people revered song and light, and she felt that both lay between them, perhaps tentative and wavering, but real and bright.

"But, I'm afraid I must bid you farewell," she forced herself to say, though it pained her greatly to do so, and Kíli's face closed to her as she watched him set his own wishes and desires aside in perhaps the most Kingly display he'd shown all day. She had her people, her King, and he had his Kingdom and kin.

"I bid you safe travels… Tauriel." He bowed and she did the same, though everything within her cried out against it.

"Farewell, Kíli… I wish you all the happiness and strength of the Valar and hope that you will not forget your courage or might. I… I know I will not."

Their eyes met again and the silence was once more heavy with emotions that could not be voiced and actions they could not take. Tauriel had a suspicion that if she left him now, here in the shadows of the Lonely Mountain, she would regret it all her life. But what could she do? Her King, her Prince, her people would never accept him, and neither, she suspected, would his.

Tauriel broke their gaze when she could bear it no longer and, feeling more cowardly than she ever had prior, she fled from him before she could do something foolish like confess her feelings to him or, worse, kiss him before his kin and hers and all of Arda.

 _I will not cry,_ she told herself even as her eyes stung traitorously, _this is for the best. We can never be. Go home, forget, live on. He will marry one of his kind and his line will live on as it should. There is nothing for you here save sorrow and pain._

She reached Legolas's side, his body language disapproving and he would not look at her. For which, for once, she was grateful, despite the ocean of distance that lay between them. There was no one who could comfort her now, she knew, not this time. She kept her eyes on the horizon, toward home, until Thranduil and Gandalf parted at last. The wizard looked upset and he did not speak to them nor look their way, she noted, and watched as he moved toward the waiting dwarves and Hobbit. Frowning, she turned to her King who waited for them under the shadows of the hanging rocks, his hair and robes glinting in the sun.

As they neared him, her King caught her with a binding, piercing stare that sent a strange, portentous chill through her blood.

"Tauriel," he said callously when they stood before him at last.

Confused, she bowed her head slightly, and said, "Yes my King?"

"I have just spoken with Mithrandir concerning our _relationship_ with the dwarves of Erebor. He insists that we maintain a stronger, closer knit bond and forgive the errors of the past, despite their enormity. It seems the old wizard believes we may have need of one another in the years to come." His speech was riddled with thinly veiled contempt and condescension. Tauriel was at a loss as he looked at her pointedly.

"So?" he questioned forcefully.

"I do not under-"

Her King narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to her in one swift, disarming movement, his fair face nearly overwhelming at such a slight distance. The light and shadows cast by thousands of years danced beneath the placid blue of his eyes, and within them he held many secrets taken from the days when Thingol and Melian had lived in Doriath, before the Great War and all he had lost. If she had felt old previous to this moment she felt now lifeless before him, an infant in the ancient majesty of his presence. She saw now that his distrust of the dwarves, which seemed malicious to her, was bred from awful deeds, though long in the past, were no less terrible.

"Do you believe we ought to befriend this would-be-King and his wayward clan of exiles?" he asked her, so close she could feel his breath on her face and practically taste his displeasure.

Faced with his great knowledge and terrible memory, she nearly denied the affirmation in her heart. In his timeless gaze she was nearly taken by memories and deeds that were not her own but resounded through her like the great songs of the Valar, weaving through her entire being until she hummed with it. But then the smiling face of a young dwarf came to mind, followed by the gentle, yet strong pressure of his warm hand against hers and she closed her eyes in resignation.

"Yes my King, I believe that we should," she said, barely aware she spoke at all, and then opened her eyes once more.

There was a pause as Thranduil searched her gaze so deeply she thought he must have found every secret part of her heart, everything which she would have kept from him, laying her mind and heart bare before him. He jerked suddenly away and turned his back to her, leaving her shaken and dizzy. Legolas looked to her with a now familiar expression of hurt and betrayal and when her eyes met his, he turned aside in condemnation.

 _Valar_ , she cried internally, _must I chose between the truth in my heart and the love of my family and people?_

"Then Tauriel, you shall remain here," Thranduil said ominously and Tauriel was stunned, staring at his stern, emotionless back in utter disbelief, "And serve as ambassador for our people in Erebor until such time as I deem necessary." He looked back over his shoulder at her, his eyes cold, calculating and uncaring. "You will report to me everything you learn and everything you see. I do not trust this King any more than I trusted the last and I will not offer my friendship to a foolish child unfit to lead sheep much less a race of people." And so saying, he turned aside and departed. Legolas moved to follow after, turning to her for a brief moment with undisputed longing and pain, before he too, left her behind.

If Tauriel had felt torn prior to this moment she now felt split in half and lost did not even begin to describe the sudden division of her heart. She felt as though she had been cast out and left bereft, and for the first time she truly appreciated the fact that Thranduil, though her King, was the closest thing she'd ever had to a father since the death of her own.

 _Valar help me,_ she prayed, but they too seemed to have forsaken her.


	5. Of Elves and Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something of a filler chapter, sort of a break from all the 'drama,' which will pick up again in the next addition, I promise. I hope everyone enjoys more time spent with the dwarves and at last, some bonding (finally) with the elves. Also, a bit of Kíli/Tauriel fluff. Please enjoy and know that I read each and every review and they mean a great deal to me. I'm sorry I don't have time to reply to all of you, between work, child raising, and writing I have to do what I can . .
> 
> Just know that you all are wonderful and you keep the motivation alive and well!

_I remember tears streaming down your face_   
_When I said, "I'll never let you go"_   
_When all those shadows almost killed your light_   
_I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"_   
_But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight_

_Just close your eyes_   
_The sun is going down_   
_You'll be alright_   
_No one can hurt you now_   
_Come morning light_   
_You and I'll be safe and sound_

_-Safe and Sound_

_By Taylor Swift (and the Civil Wars)_

* * *

**T** he dwarves hadn't the faintest clue what to do with her, that much was clear. One of the younger ones -Dori? Glori? Mori? or something of that nature- was staring at her with owlish wonder. Dwalin, despite his previous gratitude toward her, was scowling at her with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Tauriel suspected scowling was his preferred means of expression and decided not to take it personally. Kíli, for his part, had attuned his more jovial self and was smiling broadly, obviously pleased she was there. The others ranged from blatant dislike to a wary understanding that was not nearly close enough to acceptance.

Tauriel felt unwanted, discarded, and very, _very_ tall.

"Well, I hadn't quite expected Thranduil to take my advice quite so… quickly, but I must say, I am glad you are here Tauriel," Gandalf said cheerily. His attempts at breaking the tension were kind if not blatantly obvious.

For her part, Tauriel was not sure how to feel. On the one hand she _was_ pleased to have the opportunity to spend more time with a certain dwarf lord; on the other hand she was in an unfamiliar land, with an unfamiliar people, surrounded by a largely hostile race. A big part of her was tempted to race after her King and beg him to let her come home with them. A smaller, insistent part of her however, thrilled at the change of scenery and the potential for adventure. Her people did not embrace change easily or amiably but despite the atmosphere, she was quietly excited. And also, she accepted, afraid.

"I am glad to be of service… to my King and people," she said politely. She focused on the encouraging smile of Kíli, who still had grief lingering in his features but seemed more himself than he had the last few times they had met. She refused to believe, however, that it had anything to do with her.

"Yes well, I'm afraid Bilbo and I must depart," Gandalf said and Tauriel had to restrain herself from throwing herself at the wizard's feet and begging him to stay. His words _did_ have the effect of distracting the dwarves from her presence, however, as they each wished the sad Hobbit farewell. She watched as Kíli attempted to gift Bilbo a large share of the remaining treasure, which came to an extraordinary twenty cases of gold and jewels, but the tiny creature declined, saying one chest would do him just fine, thank you very much. Tauriel's affection for him grew and she was sorry to see the amicable creature leave. In the end, Kíli and the others loaded the wizard's cart with two overflowing chests and her heart was touched by their gratitude and fondness.

She stood to one side as the Halfling said his final goodbyes and listened as Gandalf spoke to the remainder of Thorin Oakenshield's company while they stood in the victorious shadow of their mountain home. Even Tauriel, despite being an elf, was touched by the magnitude of the occasion, by all that they had suffered and all they had accomplished.

"Well, my friends, this is goodbye, for now," Gandalf said kindly, leaning on his staff with his great pointed hat casting a long shadow.

"What gift can we offer a wizard for his services?" Kíli asked, his voice filled with gratitude and a small hint of fear. Tauriel realized she was not the only one to dread the departure of Gandalf.

"The dragon Smaug is dead and the dwarves once more established in the halls of their fathers, I can think of no greater gift than that, Kíli."

"There must be something Gandalf, we insist," Balin said, squaring his shoulders in the stubborn manner Tauriel had come to associate with all dwarves.

The wizard smiled a bit and glanced briefly her way before saying, "Very well, Master Balin, if you wish to repay me you will treat Tauriel as a guest and friend. She did, after all, save the life of your King on more than _one_ occasion."

Tauriel flushed and lifted her chin slightly to hide her embarrassment under a mask of serene pride as they all turned to look at her in surprise. Dwarves were not the only ones who could embody strength and stubbornness, she told herself.

Balin looked uneasy. "Aye, we know well enough what we owe her, and her people, but it might be a wee bit harder to convince the others… the distrust runs rather deep."

Dwalin huffed, "Dwarves don't forget trespasses easily, Gandalf. The lass will have a hard time among us, especially as our kin from the north return. She'd be better off going home with the rest of her lot."

The young one -she really needed to figure out all their names- blinked at her. "I think she's lovely," he said.

"Either way," Gandalf interrupted, "You asked what I wanted in payment, and Tauriel's acceptance is what I'm asking."

Kíli stepped forward at that, meeting the wizard's eye. "And you shall have it Gandalf. You have my word that I and my company will do all that we can to make Tauriel feel welcome here."

Gandalf smiled and placed his hand on the young dwarf's shoulder, "You did well today Kíli, very well. I'll try to return in time for your coronation, if I can. And don't be too hard on Dáin, he means well."

One of the dwarves, who wore an interestingly twisted hat and had been present in Lake Town as she healed Kíli, huffed angrily, "Rotten ol' bastard, mighty keen on the throne, he is."

"Over my dead body!" cried one of the others who possessed a very long, red beard and a giant axe.

"Now now," Gandlaf said, fluttering his hands as though he were shushing a batch of unruly children, "You owe Chieftain Dáin a great deal for his help during the battle, I'm sure you'll find a way to repay and placate him."

This was received with grunts of dissatisfaction and reluctant grumbles. Tauriel found herself smiling at their antics.

"Farewell, my fine dwarves, I shall see you when I may," the wizard said and left them with a parting smile and bow, which all of the dwarves returned, several wiping stray tears from their eyes.

Gandalf turned to Tauriel and motioned her with one slight jerk of his head to meet with him aside the cart. She obliged, feeling oddly self conscious, and found his smile to be apologetic.

"I knew Thranduil would select you," he confided to her in Sindarin, "if he selected anyone at all, and I'm sorry if it came as an unwelcome surprise. He was not terribly pleased when last we spoke."

"Not entirely unwelcome," she assured him quietly, "But I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of living amongst dwarves."

"And I don't blame you, but I think you can do a great deal of good here," he insisted. "They are a stubborn, difficult lot to be sure, but you've already won over several, their new King not being the least of them." She flushed and he smiled a little more knowingly than she would have liked.

"I would… encourage you to follow your instincts in this matter, Tauriel. I know Thranduil is neither eager nor willing to extend friendship toward the dwarves of Erebor, but I've a feeling that an alliance between your two peoples might be key in the days to come." There was something ominous in his tone and in the way his eyes would not quite meet hers that set her skin crawling.

"You suspect dark days ahead, don't you Mithrandir?"

The old wizard sighed, suddenly looking much older and wearier than he had mere moments before. "I suspect many things, none of which are confirmed or certain. I hope for peace, Tauriel, but I do not expect it. And neither should you."

She drew in a shaky breath and gave him a rueful smile, "I will do my best Mithrandir, but I can make no promises."

"That is all I or anyone else can ask of you," he said with a smile of his own. "Farewell, Tauriel and may the light of the Valar be with you."

"And with you," she replied and he mounted the heavily burdened cart beside his small companion. With a final wave from the odd pair, they turned and left them. Tauriel watched their departure with an array of emotions until they disappeared into the line of Mirkwood trees far into the distance.

* * *

**T** auriel worked alongside the Dwarves and Men as the battlefield was cleared little by little over the remainder of the day. It would take many days for all the wreckage and death to be removed completely, and she suspected the earth would always carry a stain of the misery it had wrought. She bitterly recalled her gleeful sentiments at not having to do exactly what she was doing in that moment, which was piling up the lifeless, foul bodies of Orcs and Wargs that had been missed during the initial carcass round up. She found, however, she was oddly grateful for the work as it left little want or need for conversation. No one, save perhaps Kíli, who had almost immediately been whisked away into a political meeting with his grumpy kinsmen from the south, would have spoken to her anyway. She'd only been able to offer him one tentative and encouraging smile before he was gone. She had made a 'sort of' friend in the curious young dwarf, whose name, she had discovered, was Orí, and he was never far from her side, staring shyly and never speaking a word. He was helpful though, lifting heavy weapons and hefting massive bodies twice his size.

It was dismal, but necessary work, made all the more difficult when the stray body of dwarf, man or elf was found and Tauriel kindled a newfound gratitude for her presence as several disfigured elven bodies were discovered. She saw to their funeral pyres personally. As such it was late into the night when she at last returned to the camp just outside the ruins of Dale and found an unexpected face waiting for her.

"Luríena?!" she exclaimed and blinked in shock at her friend's distinctly uncomfortable expression. The She-Elf stood near the fire, opposite the wary party of dwarves, attempting to look detached and composed. Only her eyes gave way to her discomfort. Her friend rushed forward to greet her immediately, saying in Sindarin, "Tauriel! Prince Legolas sent me with your belongings." She motioned to a tidy pile of her possessions that had been neatly stacked to one side, "He told me the King had ordered you to remain behind and I simply couldn't believe it."

Tauriel gave the glaring party of dwarves a stern look and steered her friend to one side where they might speak in private. "Thank you Luríena, I am very happy to see a friendly face."

"Is it true? Are you to remain here with these… these… _dwarves_ ," she said at a disgusted whisper. Tauriel couldn't quite suppress a soft smile of amusement.

"I'm afraid so."

The other elf looked incredulous, "But _why_?"

Tauriel sighed heavily; beyond weary after a long day of emotional upheaval and manual labor. "As an Ambassador, of sorts, supposedly. To garner friendship between our people… and theirs."

Luríena crinkled her nose. "I have a hard time believing our King would insist upon that."

"He didn't, Mithrandir did, Thranduil was… not pleased."

"Legolas didn't seem very happy either. In fact, I don't recall ever seeing him quite so distressed…"

Tauriel cringed and sighed, "I fear I'm a bit out of sorts… Luríena….I…" She hesitated, realizing she was about to divulge all the confusing feelings in her heart. She quickly searched her friend's concerned, innocent face and found she could not quite form the words.

"I'm… just glad you're here. It's nice to see a friendly face."

Her friend beamed and opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a cheery voice.

"Tauriel! You must join us for dinner we're –Oh, hello…" Kíli, divested of crown and robes, stared at Luríena in obvious surprise. He was holding two bowls of steaming stew with flagons of ale gripped between his fingers. The dwarves and many of the human men had decided to camp outside of Erebor among the ruins of Dale. Tauriel had wondered at the choice but, being very fond of the open sky and the stars, was grateful.

Tauriel smiled a little at the dwarf and motioned to her friend, "Kíli, this is my good friend Luríena. Luríena, I present to you, Kíli, King Beneath the Mountain."

Kíli seemed deeply embarrassed by the title and even in the dim fire light she could see his flush. Luríena executed a small curtsey and said, "I am honored to meet you, King Kíli."

Kíli cleared his throat and shook his head, "Please, I'm not a King yet, just a humble dwarf lad and certainly no one to bow to."

"Oh?" Tauriel questioned. "And I thought you were a great Prince among your people? I must have been mistaken…"

Kíli shot her a look and, catching her teasing tone, smirked. "Oh aye, I am a great dwarven Prince to be sure. One who feels meekly shy when lovely maids bow before him."

Tauriel laughed despite herself and even Luríena chuckled, though she looked more than a little confused at their banter.

"Your friend would be welcome to share our meal," Kíli offered with sincerity and held out a bowl and mug to Tauriel who accepted them graciously. Their fingers touched over the warm wood of the carven bowl and heat, which had nothing to do with the stew, coursed through her. Kíli looked up into her eyes and held them for a brief moment before averting his gaze with another telling flush.

Tauriel cleared her throat, murmuring a thank you, and looked to Luríena who no longer seemed confused, instead she appeared suspicious. Tauriel took a quick swallow of the ale and was grateful for its honey warmth.

"I would like that, King Kíli, though I cannot stay long," Luríena said, warm and gracious as always. Her dark brown tresses lay loose and shining, the creases of her dark green travel gown precise and elegant. Tauriel felt like a troll in her presence.

Kíli smiled and said, "Please, just call me Kíli, I've had enough of that 'King' business for one day." He turned and called behind him, "Bofur! Pour another bowl before you eat it all you great glutton!"

"Oh aye, your _majesty_!" came the sarcastic but good humored reply, prompting a chorus of (somewhat) drunken replies in kind.

"You see," Kíli said to the two elf maids with a grin, "No one treats me like a King anyway."

Luríena smiled kindly and they headed back toward the fire and the waiting company. Tauriel's eyes met Kíli's from across the fire as they sat and he winked at her. She couldn't help smiling into her stew despite her friends questioning looks and raised brows.

A few hours later found the moon high in the sky and Tauriel and Luríena clutching their eighth (or maybe tenth) flagon of dwarven ale. They sniggered slightly as two drunken dwarves attempted to show them a traditional dwarven dance. This, so far, had amounted to a lot of pushing, shoving, falling and cursing. Several of the dwarves, and even a couple of Men, had produced flutes and fiddles and a lively tune had been taken up.

The dwarf called Bofur said, in his thick slurring brogue, "No ya great idiot! Ya turn left an' _I_ turn right."

Gloin, the red bearded dwarf with the wicked axe, glared at his dance partner, "Idiot?! What would a backward lad from the Blue Mountains know of _real_ dancin!" He then proceeded to kick up his short legs in a mad, drunken manner which Tauriel highly doubted would be considered a dance among _any_ race. His brother, Oín, was clapping cheerily as though it were the greatest display he had ever seen; he also had beer all down his front and bits of stew in his impressively long beard.

"I hadn' realized tha' such great lords danced like headless chickens!" Bofur roared, nearly falling over a pile of stones in his mirth. His statement was followed by a chorus of hearty laughter, general clanging mugs and stamping feet, and a very indignant glare from Gloin.

"I shouldn't expect you lot of cravens to appreciate true _art_ when you see it," the Dwarf Lord said then promptly belched and even Tauriel and Luríena had to laugh at that.

Taking another sip of her brew, which was surprisingly delicious, Tauriel glanced around the fire and found one face missing among the dwarves. She blinked and frowned, peering into the shadows for the wayward dwarven Prince, but she could see no immediate sign of him.

"Might I have this dance, milady?" Orí asked Luríena suddenly, all sweet, shy smiles. To Tauriel's surprise, the She-Elf beside her smiled and set her mug aside, taking the dwarfs proffered hand with a delicate press of her own.

"I would be honored, my lord," she said sweetly, leaving the young dwarf clearly star struck. It looked as though her little dwarven shadow had found a new elf to follow, she noted in amusement. The mismatched pair stepped toward the fire amidst a great approving cheer and a robust tune was started. Tauriel clapped cheerfully with the rest, for a time, as her friend whirled and spun gracefully and joyously about the flames, holding dwarves and men alike enraptured. Orí proved to be quite a fine dancer indeed. Still Kíli had not returned. She wondered how long he had been gone and understood that perhaps, for him at least, it was too soon for celebration.

She hesitated only a moment more before taking one last swig of ale and slipping away from the merry group of Men, Elves and Dwarves.

Silent as a shadow she walked alone through the ruined city. The warmth of the fire and drink left her so quickly it felt as though the ruins themselves had siphoned it away. It had been wonderful to enjoy herself for a moment, to forget the tragedy that had so recently befallen them, but here, amidst death and destruction, sadness was poignant once more. Smaug's presence would remain among the abandoned city for many years to come.

Tauriel picked her way carefully amongst the old debris, noting sadly the remnants of the lives once lived amid the now silent stone and shadow. She paused for a moment to lift a partially smashed porcelain doll from the street. She smiled sadly as she realized it was meant to be dwarf lady, complete with braided hair and hints of a wispy beard. Tauriel placed the doll gently on a fallen parapet, allotting the broken toy a regal throne over the surrounding wreckage and continued on her way.

She found Kíli at the edge of town, opposite the camp site, looking out across the valley to the ruined Gate of Erebor, the mouth of the city dark and portentous. He was seated on large piece of stone that had once been part of the city walls and she could see, even from her distance, the tears shining on his face. In his hands he held his runestone, twisting it between his hands just as he had during their first real conversation within the dungeons and it made her heart twinge. She paused, still within the shadow of the city, unsure if she should disturb his grief or if she should tempt her already erratic emotions. _Yes,_ she told herself, _it would be best if I left him alone_ -

"You can come out Balin," Kíli called suddenly, just when she had been about to turn away, "I heard you stumbling about."

Tauriel cringed and sighed, saying, "I hadn't realized I walked like an old dwarf." She stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight as he turned toward her. He had rather exceptional hearing, for a dwarf.

Kíli started and immediately swiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his coat sleeve. He cleared his throat sheepishly, "Ah… I'm sorry Tauriel. I figured Balin would come after me eventually."

She smiled kindly and moved slowly to stand near him, leaning back on the cool stone below him. From his perch he was quite a bit taller than she and Tauriel found it odd to be looking up at _him_ instead of the other way round.

"I noticed your absence and I thought perhaps you might like some company. Though I could leave if you'd like-"

"No," he said quickly. "Stay. Please, I do not wish to be alone with my thoughts any longer." His voice softened as he spoke and his gaze once more settled on the gates of his newly recovered kingdom. She wondered if he felt the sacrifice of his brother and uncle had been worth reclaiming his homeland. From her own experience, she imagined he would have traded every coin, every jewel, and the entire mountain itself to have them back again. She knew she would have given everything she had to have her parents with her once more.

Tauriel remained silent, sensing that he needed her companionship more than he needed her words. The music from camp floated on a light winter breeze and tangled in her hair with a gentle, lingering touch. There was a melancholy tone to the music now and she wondered what they might be singing around the fire, if merry making had turned, as it must, to sad remembrance.

"He was always there, you know," Kíli said at last, his voice husky and far away. Tauriel looked up at his face, which had titled up toward the full moon, his eyes glistening. "We were always getting into trouble. I drove him mad for years, following him around, trying to be just like him. I looked up to him, he was my hero, even when he was being a prat," he chuckled a little but it was a hollow, lost sort of sound. "I… I keep looking for him you know, turning to share a joke or a look. In my head I know he is gone, but in my heart…" he trailed off.

Tauriel wet her lips and took a breath, turning her own face toward the silvery lantern in the sky. "When my parents died I used to stay up at night and talk to the stars, sure that they were up there listening somehow, watching after me."

She felt more than saw him glance her way as he said, "How old were you when you… lost them?"

She ducked her head little. "Young, by elven standards, still a child, really."

"I too was young when my father died… I barely remember him. Fíli… he takes after him." It wasn't lost on Tauriel how he referred to his brother in the present tense, and her heart ached for him. "I've taken more to my mother's side. She used to say I was the spitting image of Thorin when he was my age. Was… was your mother like you?"

Tauriel grinned slightly as she remembered her mother with fondness. "I look much like her, yes. I've her hair and eyes, but more the face of my father. She was wiser than I, and fiery, her temper was somewhat… renowned."

Kíli smiled in his turn and caught her eye. "I would say you may have inherited that temper. You're quite a… _ferocious_ fighter. Not that you rival the ferocity of a _dwarf,_ per se."

"Of course not," she rolled her eyes.

"But you're certainly skilled," he allowed with a smirk.

"My father was a great fighter," she said, finding herself oddly eager to share parts of her past with him in a way she had never been eager to with anyone prior. "He was in the King's guard; he likely would have been Captain someday. He loved to read as well as fight, something I never took a keen enough interest in. He would read me stories as a child, wonderful tales from his rather impressive collection. We used to stay up late into the night, lying beneath the stars, as he built wondrous places with his words and voice."

Kíli's smile had gone soft and his eyes shone with an emotion that made her heart tremble. She looked away.

"My mother is a wonderful story teller," he said, "she used to gather all the children around the Great Hearth in the Blue Hall and tell us tales of Erebor, Moria and Mahal. Fíli was a fair storyteller as well, though he used his talents for trying to scare me at night in the dark of our room…" He trailed off, visibly cringing as though physically pained.

"You two must have gotten into immense trouble as children," she remarked, attempting to sound moderately light hearted. She knew, from personal experience, that it would ease his loss, in the long run, if he spoke of happier times.

He sighed and it was a weary, lost sort of sound, "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything, really, about all the adventures you had or the tricks you played."

"How do you know we played tricks?" he asked with strained humor.

"Please, I may not have much experience with dwarves, but I know a troublemaker when I see one."

Kíli chuckled with true amusement this time and suddenly he was leaning down toward her with a mischievous gleam in his eye. Tauriel swallowed and mentally forced herself to hold his gaze and not allow her eyes to wander to his full, slightly parted lips. Heat radiated off him in wonderful waves and Tauriel recalled that Dwarves typically ran hotter than other races. She wondered, vaguely, what his bare skin would feel like beneath her hands.

"Well, there _is_ one occasion that comes to mind," he said, distracting her from her inappropriate thoughts.

"D-do tell," she said, flinching internally as her voice shook.

"It was all Fíli's idea of course," he continued. "And it all started when Dwalin got it into his thick, bald head, to try to court our mother…."

Tauriel pictured the gruff, tattooed dwarf and gaped in shock, "What?!"

"Oh aye, but fear not, because Fíli and I taught him a right good lesson. So, first, we had to get a hold of some sheep…"


	6. Ghosts of Erebor

_Happiness feels a lot like sorrow_   
_Let it be, you can't make it come or go_   
_But you are gone- not for good but for now_   
_Gone for now feels a lot like gone for good_

_Happiness is a firecracker sitting on my headboard_   
_Happiness was never mine to hold_   
_Careful child, light the fuse and get away_   
_'Cause happiness throws a shower of sparks_

_Happiness damn near destroys you_   
_Breaks your faith to pieces on the floor_   
_So you tell yourself, that's enough for now_   
_Happiness has a violent roar_

_Happiness is like the old man told me_   
_Look for it, but you'll never find it all_   
_Let it go, live your life and leave it_   
_Then one day, wake up and she'll be home_   
_Home, home, home_

_Happiness- The Fray_

* * *

**L** uríena prepared to depart with the rising of the sun. She gathered her horse and her things with an air of reluctance, as if perhaps she longed to stay. Tauriel hugged her friend gently, her heart fluttering painfully in her chest. The other woman pulled away slowly and her eyes swam with unshed tears. They clasped hands and much passed between them that neither needed say aloud. They had known each other all their long lives and today felt like a true farewell for reasons Tauriel couldn't fathom.

"At least, I think, I shall not worry so much for you now," Luríena finally said aloud, a small smile playing across her lips. The taste of winter was carried on a morning breeze that toyed with Tauriel's senses, and its touch gave her strength and courage.

"And why is that, my friend?" Tauriel asked.

Luríena sighed and shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know how to explain it exactly, I can only say that I feel, somehow, that this is where you belong. Is that strange?"

Tauriel offered a wavering smile, battling a mixture of emotions. "Not strange… no." _Because I feel the same way, I only wish I knew why._

"Farewell, my dear friend, and may the light of the Valar watch over you."

"And you, my friend."

Luríena squeezed her hand and gave her a watery smile, bright from the first rays of the sun creeping over distant mountain peaks. Then she was gone, disappearing by degrees toward the forest Tauriel could no longer comfortably call home.

She stood there for a long time, thinking of nothing and everything, feeling strangely detached and adrift. She was icily cold inside and out when she finally turned away.

* * *

 **S** everal days later found Tauriel slaving beneath the weight of the Lonely Mountain. Her life had taken on a strange sort of routine. Long days of hard work and nights of drinking and laughter, as those who remained fought to chase away the lingering ghosts and shadows. Many of the Men from Lake Town remained, including Bard, whom Tauriel found pleasant enough for a man.

"We'll rebuild here, I think, once the gold has been divvied," he'd said one night to Balin as they overlooked the ruins of Dale.

"You don't intend to return to Lake Town then?" the old dwarf had asked.

Bard had shaken his head ruefully. "Nay, the town belongs to the Master of Esgaroth and I would see the city of my fathers restored and the relationship between Men and Dwarves rekindled."

Balin had sniffed loudly and tellingly and the two had leaned on one another for many long minutes like battered trees after a storm.

"Nay lass, like this, you see?" Gloín grumbled at her, bringing her back to the present, and took the beam from her hands to show her how to wrap the thick twine across both large pieces. His massive hands moved fast but she caught the pattern quickly and imitated it to his satisfaction. "Gives it a stronger hold that way, ye see?"

Tauriel nodded and wiped the sweat from her brow briefly before resuming her task. She'd recently become a jack-of-all trades, from carpentry to stone work, to the still present need of tending the wounded. The air beneath the mountain was still stale and oppressive despite the opened shafts that led out to the surface above, and her throat and nose were clogged with dust and grit. She wondered if she would ever grow used to the lack of the sun and sky above her. Would she have to?

"Careful lads, careful, don't want this wall coming back down on us, do we?" Dwalin shouted from down the corridor as he and six other dwarves tirelessly pushed a block of fallen stone back into place to clear a section of the main walkway. Their strength, as always, was impressive. Almost as impressive as their colorful language as several cursed and spat with the effort. Tauriel gathered her handy work and quickly helped set the wooden supports in place so the masons could get to work. The four stone workers, taken from Daín's people, moved forward wearily. They had been working day and night to restore the foremost chambers and walkways to some semblance of serviceability, but they knew, as did Tauriel and the others, that it would be many decades before Erebor would be truly restored, if ever at all.

Bofur collapsed dramatically onto his back when the deed was at last done, breathing heavily through his nose so that it whistled with every inhale. His belly was rising like a half moon above him, deflating impressively with each breath.

"I always imagined myself swimming in a bathing pool of gold when we reclaimed Erebor." He swept a hand wistfully above him, the threads of gold in the rising pillars twinkling at him. Tauriel rolled her eyes, with hands on her hips, and her back ached slightly in protest. It had been many years since she'd performed so much manual labor and the morning work had taken its toll. She wasn't about to let these _dwarves_ outwork an elf, however.

Dwalin grunted and kicked a metal encased boot at him. "Quit your belly aching, whose fault is it you spent all night drinking and eating when you knew there was real work to be done?"

Bofur pressed the back of one filthy hand to his glistening forehead and sighed whimsically, "You are a cruel and pitiless task master, Lord Dwalin, but I shall not let that crush my fighting spirit." He punctuated this with a loud belch.

The others laughed breathlessly as they passed around a water flask. Or what she assumed was a water flask, anyway. After taking a healthy swig herself, it took every ounce of her self control not to spurt wine into Orí's upturned face. She swallowed thickly and held her breath in a vain effort not to collapse into a coughing fit.

Gloín chuckled and patted her firmly on the back, pushing forth a round of reluctant gasps and coughs. "Let it out lassie, the rest of us certainly hold nothing back, do we, Bombur?" Bombur grinned and obligingly passed gas which, of course, drew laughs from the gathered company. Tauriel was perturbed to find she was smiling in kind and wondered where her refined sensibilities had gone. Legolas would have certainly teased her. A sharp pain struck her at the thought of her friend and she turned away from the easy merriment of those gathered.

She missed him. She longed to right things between them; it felt as though her heart couldn't settle until she saw him again. She stepped into the golden glow of a light shaft and tilted her face upward, feeling the faint warmth of the distant sun like the comforting caress of a lover.

_Why do I feel as though Kíli and Legolas exist on opposite sides of a great chasm? Why do I feel that to choose one… I must forsake the other?_

"Are you alright, milady?" Orí asked softly and she blinked back into reality. The other dwarves had already moved further along the path, onto their next task. There was so much work to do. She only wished she knew where she fit in here, amongst them. She was an Ambassador, supposedly, but she hadn't even seen Kíli since that night among the ruins. She wasn't opposed to hard work, or helping, but she couldn't help but feel that he was avoiding her somehow.

Sighing, she walked with her young dwarven friend out of the light and back beneath the heavy shadows of the mountain.

* * *

 **T** he sun was setting when she was finally able to step out into the fresh air and she took a deep, welcoming breath of relief. The mountain city had a number of balconies and openings, but many had been destroyed, were inaccessible, or hidden. This balcony in particular seemed to belong to a lavish set of rooms, possibly intended for the royal family. She'd crept from dinner - held in one of the smaller, less ruined halls- up a grand flight of steps, strangely anxious to be alone.

As though she could sense the night air and open sky, an open balcony and chilled winter air had greeted her, breathing new life into her weary bones. The set of rooms were largely intact, though covered in dust and spider's webs, and lavishly decorated. The ghosts of those who had lived before lingered in the growing shadows and forgotten possessions, and Tauriel felt vaguely as though she were intruding. Desire for open sky had won out however, though she'd promised herself she wouldn't stay long.

Twilight lingered gently around her, purple and sweet as the first stars woke in the darkening sky. Bracing her had on the crumbling ledge she closed her eyes and absorbed the weightless feeling.

Despite everything, she quite enjoyed the company of the dwarves. They seemed to have come to terms with her presence; teasing and laughing with her despite a lingering sense of racial difference. Some of Daín's men had mingled easily with the company from the Blue Mountains; distant relatives, old friends reuniting, but Tauriel sensed the lingering tension and derision from those who took their meals and rest apart. She wondered if Daín meant to gracefully step down, if Kíli did in fact choose to retain the throne, or if he had more devious plans in place, and what she meant to do about it, if anything, were that the case. She knew that the riches of Erebor must be tempting indeed to the dwarves of the Iron Hills, and contention had run rampant prior to the arrival of the Orcs and the terrible battle that had followed. Feelings that weren't likely to disappear over the course of a few days or weeks.

She wondered faintly about those who had lived, laughed, and loved here before all the fire and ruin. These halls would have been bright and lively, full of voices and music. Their echo lingered just outside of consciousness, as though ready to spring to life once again given the right push. The city gave the impression of a creature which longed to shrug off its shroud of despair, and gloom and the ghosts that remained seemed at peace around her. She remembered that there had been a time when Dwarves and Elves had been keen friends, trading their secrets and talents for the benefit of all. She'd heard tales of the Elven gates of Moria, and the beauty her kin had wrought within the ancient stone halls of the lost kingdom. She sensed little of her people's presence here in the hard, sharp lines of the dwarven architecture, strong and almost violently beautiful with its distinct lack of curve and grace. Taruiel found herself enjoying the contrast against the smooth shapely curves her people preferred.

She stayed standing, staring into the growing darkness, until the last reaches of the sun had faded into the glittering of the stars, and then slipped back inside. The nights were long and lonely with none of her people to keep her company and only tact and a sense of trepidation had kept her from wandering the extensive, mysterious halls. How long had it been since an elf had been invited within, to explore unrestricted and largely unnoticed? Perhaps not since the days of Thingol and the Dwarves of Nogrod. The darkness of the hall was almost too much, even for her keen eyes. She picked her way warily down the steps, her feet light and silent on the dust laden stone. She was so intent that she didn't hear the harsh whispers of angry voices till she reached the lower most steps where she paused to listen.

"Ye can't be serious lad, leaving now with Daín breathin down our necks," a voice, Gloín she thought, grumbled from down the hall. She could just barely make out two forms. One was taller and slighter, the other more squat and round.

"How can I not!" a familiar voice all but shouted, and a shiver coursed up her spine. "My mother deserves to hear the news from me and only me."

"Leave now and ye might not have a throne to come back to-"

"I don't want the damned throne! I don't care about the throne, or Erebor or Daín. What does any of that matter with Thorin and Fíli gone?!" Kíli's voice cracked miserably and Tauriel's chest ached painfully.

"There lad, there now," Gloín said and Tauriel watched the smaller shadow embrace the taller. "Ye can't let all they died for be for naught. Yer mother wouldn't thank ya for that. Calm yourself now, all will be well. Your mother is a strong woman, a Princess in her own right, and no stranger to loss. She will understand."

"Aye, she may forgive me Gloín, I'm more worried if I will ever be able to forgive myself. I should have died out there, with my brother and Uncle, it should have been my life not theirs, that was lost."

"You'll not say such things to me again lad if you know what's good fer ya," Gloín commanded gruffly. "You do your Uncle and King shame by speaking so. "

Kíli said nothing, his head lowered in the bare light that managed to penetrate from the hall into the passageway.

"You are right of course. You and Balin. I will stay, though it may haunt me all my life."

"Lad…" Gloín hesitated over his words. "Being King often means doing what you'd rather not for the wellbeing of all. Thorin learned that well enough, and I'm afraid it will be a hard lesson for ye. A lesson I hate to see ye learn, if I'm being honest with me self."

Kíli sighed deeply, "I'd meet with Lord Dain, Lord Bard, and the Lady Tauriel tomorrow to discuss the future and the division of riches. Could you and Balin arrange that for me Gloín?"

"Of course lad, of course."

"And I imagine you'll be among those who return to Ered Luin when the time comes, what with your wife and son traveling so far. Would you… would you bring something to my mother for me?" Kíli's voice was toneless, resigned.

"Anything," Gloín croaked.

"Give her this for me, and she will know I have kept my promise." He held something out which the other dwarf accepted with reverence and care.

Taruriel's tears fell silent and unseen in the darkness. She knew exactly what the small object had been and what it meant to him. The two dwarves were gone a moment later, leaving Tauriel to contemplate the fragility of those lives around her, and the far reaching ripples of loss and pain.

* * *

 **W** hen all the dwarves had fallen into snoring sleep and the halls had fallen all but silent, Tauriel let her mind drift out and away, toward the farthest reaches of the mountain above. There her spirit lingered and found a measure of peace, but before long the pressure of stone and sorrow prevailed and darkness crept in around her. Flashes of images wavered through her as though carried on a frozen breeze. Images she didn't understand, which lingered in her heart and mind, but were swept away before she could understand their meaning. They were images of sadness, and violence; of death and of a war to come. A war far greater than any she could imagine. Shuddering and ill, she drew herself away and back into herself just before dawn found its way beneath the mountain, and there she lay quietly terrified until Orí came to fetch her.

The King, he said, wished to see her.


	7. Keeping Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no real idea how much gold is actually accumulated inside Erebor… but judging by the movie, I'm going to go ahead and say that it is a ridiculous amount. That has been reflected in this chapter when discussing the division of gold.
> 
> I recently realized I only have a few months to pretend like the events at the end of The Hobbit might not happen, so I decided I needed to revive this story even if only to satisfy my own sad, sad, fan girl heart. I'll do my best to keep the updates coming but my wedding is only a few months out so… bear with me (as if you already haven't been). You're all lovely by the way, your reviews are marvelous, every single one of them, just like you! I'm sorry I can't respond to each and everyone of you but I don't have a lot of time between work, my professional writing obligations, and rearing a small child beast, thank you for being supportive anyway. You're all kickass; Tauriel levels of kickass to be precise.

_It started out as a feeling_   
_Which then grew into a hope_   
_Which then turned into a quiet thought_   
_Which then turned into a quiet word_   
_And then that word grew louder and louder_   
_'Til it was a battle cry_   
_I'll come back when you call me_   
_No need to say goodbye_

_-The Call by Regina Spektor_

* * *

**B** right sunlight, artfully patterned through shafts and tunnels, made the throne room glitter like a great jewel. Kíli stood above them on the dais, the throne outfitted with vibrant cushions and silks, but he seemed reluctant to sit upon it. Balin stood to one side, looking weary but perhaps a bit more cheerful than last she'd seen him. The young King was well dressed, his hair newly brushed and washed, and his short beard combed. His regality was somewhat diminished by the rakish half-smile he gave her when their eyes met. Tauriel pursed her lips at him as her stomach fluttered and her cheeks flushed. Lord Bard, finely dressed and groomed, stood to her right with Lord Daín at his other side. She felt decidedly under clothed in her simple green tunic and leather pants; at least she had thought to comb her hair. Kíli made a very gallant show of greeting each of them with measured kindness and a rather calculated smile. His eyes were guarded and she could not guess his intent.

"Thank you for joining me here my Lords, my Lady," he bowed, which they all three returned. If Lord Daín's reluctant bob was perhaps a little uncouth, Kíli gave no sign he noticed.

"I've asked you here to discuss the matter of gold and payment for services rendered." He waved a hand and three chairs were brought forward. Tauriel knew this was hardly common practice, to sit before the throne of a King, but she suspected Kíli wasn't interested in propriety or those behaviors that were expected of someone of his station. As if to accentuate this, Kíli promptly sat on one step with his arms braced on either thigh, fingers clasped loosely before him. Behind him, Balin rolled his eyes and huffed. Bard, for his part, looked slightly uncomfortable at this behavior and shifted anxiously in his char. Tauriel found it all rather amusing.

"Lord Bard, your people have sustained heavy losses, nearly as heavy as those of my own people. Lord Balin has told me you wish to give half your share to Lake Town and use the other half to rebuild the city of Dale. Is this true?

Bard made an awkward half-bow from his seat, "Ah, yes your, ah, highness."

Kíli smiled kindly, "My Lord, would the sum of one hundred chests each for Lake Town and for Dale suffice?"

Tauriel gasped, Daín growled in protest and Bard looked as though someone had struck him over the head. Kíli carried on as though he'd said nothing astonishing at all.

"I know we'd discussed my intentions toward half the treasure, but I've recently been informed that it has also been promised elsewhere, and not wishing to offend anyone, I had hoped the sum -along with the promise of aid and supplies from within the city, and from Ered Luin- might make up for any slight you might feel."

"Ah, well-" the poor man sputtered, looking rather pale. If one hundred chests of gold did not amount to _half_ of the riches within Erebor, Tauriel shuddered to think how many _did._

"Don't you think that an… excessive sum?" Daín suggested with barely constrained irritation.

Kíli's smile widened by sinister degrees and Tauriel realized that he was quite enjoying himself.

"Not at all my Lord Daín. Would you object if I were to match the combined sum, plus a hundred more chests in payment for your timely arrival and assistance?"

Daín opened his mouth and then promptly shut it again in a very good imitation of a fish suddenly yanked on shore. Behind Kíli, Balin was looking distinctly paler by the second.

"Is this agreeable, gentlemen?" Kíli asked with a raised brow. Yes, she concluded, he was certainly enjoying himself.

"Ah, yes, yes indeed your majesty. More than I could have ever hoped for," said Bard, his voice hoarse, and he rose from his chair and knelt at the steps with his head bowed in supplication.

Kíli rose to his feet immediately and drew the bargeman to his feet. "A king should never kneel to another king, my friend."

Bard frowned in confusion and Kíli's smile grew all the wider.

"If Dale is to be rebuilt, she will need to have her King restored. Your forefathers honored their kingdom and mine in the days before Smaug and through you that honor has been continued and restored once more. Might we not rebuild our kingdoms together in peace and friendship?" He sounded like a King, Tauriel realized, a shiver crawled up her spine and broke out across her skin in waves.

Whatever he might say, or feel, or believe, he appeared born to this moment, surrounded by the ruins of his once great kingdom with the sunlight streaming through. There was a certain grace in his countenance, a wisdom that might have been overlooked in part because of his typically devilish disposition, but also perhaps because his light had likely been cast aside in favor of larger shadows. He shone bright and true now, and she basked in his brilliance.

Bard, for his part, looked close to tears, and his broad chest swelled with happiness and pride. "Aye, Kíli, Lord of Erebor , King Under the Mountain, you've my allegiance and friendships in all the days to come."

They clasped hands, their smiles broad and true. "Norí will meet you in the second hall where he's settlings accounts. He should resolve matters and answer any questions you might have."

"Of course, your highness. Thank you again for your great generosity."

Kíli's smile faltered and he looked away. "Please do not thank me. Gold cannot replace the lives that have been lost."

Bard nodded grimly in understanding and departed a moment later, leaving Kíli face to face with Lord Daín. Tauriel held her breath as they stared unwaveringly at one another. Kíli was still smiling but there was an edge to it, and his eyes had grown sharp and cold. Daín stood firm, thick legs set apart and his arms crossed over his massive chest. She had the distinct feeling that a battle was being silently waged between the two dwarves, sparking between them like fiery embers. After several very long, very _tense_ moments, Daín surprised them all by letting out a loud bark of laughter that echoed through the chamber. He clapped Kíli roughly on the shoulder and drew him in for a great bear hug.

"I'm impressed lad. Impressed indeed. Your Uncle was a fine dwarf, a very fine dwarf, I had to be sure his nephew could live up to his name."

Kíli extracted himself and frowned at his kinsmen in confusion. Daín merely laughed again, resting a hand on his rounded middle, obviously greatly enjoying himself. "Don't look so put off lad, you've done well. Very well. Your Uncle would be proud of you. I know I am. I had to test ye out a bit of course, what with an entire kingdom at stake…"

Kíli glared as a flush crept up his neck and blossomed in his cheeks. Tauriel coughed behind one delicate hand to hide her amusement and he shot her a glare. "So you're saying you _don't_ want the throne."

"Mahal no! I've enough problems with my own wayward kingdom without needing another. Though I had hoped we might resume our allegiances of old. You'll need help setting this place to rights."

Kíli narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips for a moment more, then slowly held his hand out. Daín grasped his hand enthusiastically. "I've an offer to make ye as well, if you're interested. Well, several in fact, but, considering present company," the old dwarf shot her a look, "I think the others can wait."

Tauriel scowled but Daín ignored her. Kíli was smiling again, though his gaze remained guarded, if not outright suspicious. "What sort of offer?"

Daín hesitated, "I know several of your company intends to return to the Blue Mountains to gather your people. I had a hunch you might wish to join them…"

Kíli drew his hand back as though he'd been burned, a flash of pain and anger crossing his features before he was able to master his emotions.

"I meant no offense lad," Daín said hurriedly, "I mean only to offer you my services should you wish to join them. I can hold things around here until you get back. I know you've no cause to trust me, but I'll swear on whatever ye wish that I've no intent to take your throne from ye."

Balin stepped forward then, long robes swishing against the steps. "That's very generous milord, but I'm not sure it's entirely appropriate-"

"Your son travels with you, yes?" Kíli asked sharply, interrupting.

Daín hesitated a moment before answering, "Ah, yes, yes he is here with me."

Kíli thought for a moment, rubbing a hand over the short bristles of his beard, his eyes flicking toward her briefly and then away again. Tauriel bit her lip, wondering what he was thinking and desperate to know if she could help him. She clasped her hands tightly together to keep them from nervously fluttering about her chair and clothes.

"Alright Daín, I'll trust you here to look after things… _if_ your son comes with us on the journey."

Dáin frowned slightly. "You want to take my son with you as some kind of… incentive?"

Kíli smirked and shrugged his shoulders a little. "I guess that's one way to look at it."

"Is there another?" Dáin asked skeptically.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Kíli paced up the steps toward the throne, talking over his shoulder. "You could think of it as an opportunity for your son to get to know his kinsmen, and his future King. I'm sure young Thorin wouldn't mind a bit of adventure, either."

Dain rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "Well I'm not saying he wouldn't, but I'm not sure-"

"And yes," Kíli interrupted, now standing at the top of the dias, "it would ensure that you do step amicably aside when I return." He flashed the older dwarf a cheerful smile.

Dáin seemed to consider this moodily for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head with a rueful laugh. "Very well lad, you've made your point. If you're to trust me, I'm to trust you. And it just so happens that young Thorin is dyin to get out from under me boot. He's not much younger than you, truth be told, but his mother spoils him something fierce." The dwarf Lord's face took on a soft wistful quality when he mentioned his wife and Tauriel was alarmed to find she actually rather like the strange, gruff warrior. Though she had a sense that it wasn't a sentiment he returned.

Kíli braced his hands on his hips, beaming in triumph. "Wonderful! Balin would you be so kind as to show Chieftain Dáin to his quarters and get Dwalin, Gloín, Bofur and Bombur together. I'd like them to travel to Ered Luin with us."

Balin glanced from Kíli, to Dáin, and then settled piercingly on Tauriel. His eyes narrowed perceptively before he turned and bowed, leaving her with an uncomfortable prickling sensation between her shoulder blades. "Of course, don't forget that Norí requires your assistance in the Hall of Records this morning to go over the repairs."

Kíli rolled his eyes over the old dwarfs head. "I'll be there Balin, you worry too much."

" _You_ don't worry enough," Blain grumbled, Dáin chuckled, and the two dwarves departed, leaving Tauriel and Kíli alone. Despite the magnitude of the hall, and the echo of retreating footsteps, Tauriel felt the atmosphere change from one of careful politics to one of intimate friendship. Kíli's manner almost instantly reverted to one of more familiarity, his smile slow and devilish and his bearing easy and bold.

"I was hoping I might discuss something with you, my lady," he said the last with a small tone of irony, as though they shared some private joke. She was smiling at him before she knew it. When he was cheerful, his mood was infectious.

"I'm at your service, _my lord_ ," she replied with mock daintiness.

"I'd originally asked you here under the pretense that you might actually serve as one of my advisers, seeing as how King Thranduil intended you serve here as an ambassador and not as a carpenter-"

"I don't mind the work," she protested, embarrassed.

He smiled kindly, his eyes no longer shielded and distant, but warm and welcoming. "I know you don't, but _I_ mind. I'd like you to be comfortable here, however long you stay."

She dipped her head in a slight bow. "That's very kind of you, but I'm happy to be of use."

"And the men… they are treating you well?" He paced a bit before her. He was two wide steps above her, placing them eye to eye. She found it disconcerting that he was so near her own height; it was difficult to ignore the effect his presence had on her when his gaze could so easily lock with her own.

She blushed for reasons she didn't understand and ducked her head. "Yes, very kind. Dáin's men are wary but that is to be expected."

"I-", he started then sighed, rubbing at his beard in a way she was beginning to understand was a nervous gesture. It was endearing. He flashed her a sharp look, before staring down at his boots, "I know you probably don't wish to be here, away from your home and family and friends, but, well, I'm grateful that you are. I- well, the men and I- find your presence… uplifting, and I just, well, I wanted to say thank you. For everything."

Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. A tension lay coiled between them, one that sparked and simmered from where her hand touched him through the embroidered fabric of his tunic. The light, seemingly innocent caress, shot through her entire body and it terrified her as much as it excited her. When his eyes lifted again to hers, she saw her emotions reflected through him.

"I am happy to be here, to see your city and know your people. It has certainly been an adventure." She smirked and tried to act as indifferent as possible as she carefully took her hand from his shoulder. Touching him was proving to be dangerously distracting. Being _near_ him was proving to be nearly as unsettling.

His smile was back in full force and he said his next words with barely contained excitement. "Speaking of adventure, how would you feel about going on another?"

She quirked a brow, instantly suspicious. "What sort of adventure?"

"Well, you heard Lord Dáin, he'll manage things here while we travel home to gather the rest of our people. And I thought, well, that it might be best," he faltered for a moment, suddenly sheepish. "That it might be best if you were to, you know, come with us. If you wanted to of course," he said hurriedly, but the hopeful glint in his eyes was telling.

Tauriel considered the prospect. The idea was sound on the surface; most of the dwarves she'd grown close to would be accompanying their young King on his journey, and with Kíli gone she would be lacking his support and intervention, should the need ever arise. Not to mention he had the habit of almost getting himself killed whenever possible and she seemed quite talented at rescuing him. Yes, on the surface his request certainly seemed logical. But still she hesitated. Within the massive, twisting halls of Erebor, there existed a buffer between them. A buffer that kept them from crossing whatever lines lay between them, lines they would be foolish to consider crossing but already seemed to toe. Her heart thumped loudly in her breast; in the wilderness those lines would be further blurred and shifted. She could see how eager he was to shed his kingly mantle, to take up the journey and for more reasons than just bringing news to his mother. She wondered if she were one of those reasons.

"I will go," she said before she'd consciously decided to speak. "Someone has to look after you."

Kili laughed, obviously pleased with her decision, and took her hands excitedly in his. "You do seem rather keen on keeping me alive."

Tauriel smirked, ignoring the waves of pleasurable heat coursing through his hands into hers; his touch made her light headed. "Though the Valar only know why."

 _The Valar might not know_ , she thought, _but I certainly do_. The notion made her all the more uneasy.

_It can never be Tauriel, it can never be._

* * *

**S** everal days later, Orí sat on her cot, staring down in confusion at a bar of pale pink soap. He lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and promptly sneezed violently several times. He tossed the offending object into her pack and wiped at his nose. "What was that awful stuff? It smells like an herb garden."

Tauriel laughed brightly, folding her spare tunics carefully to maximize the room in her pack.

"It's called soap, Master Orí, certainly you've heard of _soap_."

He wrinkled his nose distastefully. "Our soap certainly doesn't smell like flowers and seasonings." He gathered up her silver handled comb, which had once belonged to her mother, and inspected the fine teeth, running a blunt finger over them so that they hummed softly. He seemed to appreciate the fine silver work of the handle.

"Elves sure are prissy about their hair," he remarked dryly, holding her hair oil jar between two pinched fingers as though it were something terrible and revolting.

"And dwarves aren't?" she raised a brow at the intricate braiding and parting of his thick hair.

The young dwarf huffed, "That's different; we set our braids once a month at most, usually when we bathe."

Tauriel paused, certain she had misheard him. "Do you mean to tell me you only bathe once a _month_."

"Of course! Can't lose all those essential bodily oils. Or at least that's what my mother always says."

Tauriel shuddered and pressed her lips firmly together to keep from commenting. The Valar help her if she would only be allowed to bathe once a bloody month while she stayed in Erebor. She decided to change the subject.

"What are dwarf women like? I've never seen one."

"Oh aye, they don't often leave the caves, there aren't nearly as many of them as there are of us." He toyed with a bit of leather she often used to tie back her hair. Legolas had given it to her; her chest tightened with the memory.

"Do they truly have beards as well?"

Orí nodded enthusiastically, clearly warming to the subject. " 'Course, though theirs are rather light and wispy like." He tugged at his own short beard, longer than Kíli's but still quite short in comparison to many of his kinsmen. She wondered, not for the first time, at the importance of beard length. She knew it was a matter of distinction but she wasn't entirely sure about the details. Dwarves were very protective of their customs, she knew, and she appreciated the novelty of her presence and their conversation.

"Balin says that Mahal created us, dwarf men and women that is, to be nearly the same. But they do tend to be a tad smaller and slimmer. And of course, well, they have the other bits that make 'em different." Tauriel smirked as he blushed in embarrassment.

She placed the neat stack of tunics in her pack. "And do they fight so well as the men?"

Orí beamed at the indirect compliment. "Oh aye, many of them do. Though the higher born lasses aren't nearly so vocal or public about it I suppose. It's against our most ancient laws to kill a dwarf lass in battle though, at least knowingly. It's the highest crime any dwarf can commit," he said with a tone of reverence. "Though legend has it that the only dwarf who could beat Thorin in a sword fight is the Princess Dis."

Tauriel paused at the mention of Kíli's mysterious mother. "And what is she like… the Princess?" she asked cautiously, hoping she sounded only vaguely curious as her hands trembled on the clasps of her bag.

"Oh she's a tough one, the Princess, though I suspect she'd have to be with sons like hers…" he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his sweetly innocent features. Her heart went out to him and she placed a friendly, comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Orí, I didn't mean to make you sad."

He smiled a little and looked down at his hands. "It's alright, just hasn't quite sunk in yet is all."

Tauriel sat at his side and, after a moment of consideration, put her arm around him. "You know, when someone dies among my people we sing many songs in their name and tell stories, happy stories, about their lives because we know they have traveled across the sea, safe from pain and fear. "

Orí looked up at her with shinning eyes and smiled, "That sounds very lovely, perhaps when the others return home we can give Thorin and Fíli a proper farewell celebration."

Tauriel squeezed him gently, "I'm sure Kí-everyone would appreciate it." She flushed at her blunder but Orí didn't appear to notice and let his head rest briefly on her shoulder.

"Seems silly to leave after we've only just got here," he remarked, manfully extricating himself from her grasp a moment later. He'd just spent several hours arguing with and pestering Dwalin before the gruff dwarf had finally agreed to let him tag along if only to shut him up for a few minutes.

Tauriel rose and resumed her packing, inspecting each pocket and flap carefully. "You'll be back before you know it," she said cheerfully.

The young dwarf rallied himself after that, all smiles once more, and helped her to see to the rest of her packing in companionable silence. When she caught him admiring one of her daggers with awe and envy, she offered it to him easily as a gift. He hugged her in wondering gratitude and when he rushed off to show Bofur, Tauriel was surprised to find that Kíli wasn't the only dwarf she was growing more and more fond of.

* * *

 **T** hey departed at dawn on the following day. Fall was swiftly descending to winter, and the small company - Dwalin, Gloín, Bofur, Bombur, Orí, Kíli, Dáin's son, and herself- were bundled in cloaks and furs. Dáin and Bard saw them off at the edge of Dale. Many men were already hard at work within the city, clearing rubble and debris, attempting to make it livable once more. She thought of the small, broken doll among the ruins, and it made her heart glad that soon other little girls would be at play again where so much pain and sadness had lived for far, far too long.

"I wish only that I could go with you, my friend," Bard said sincerely, one hand on Kíli's shoulder. Kíli gripped his in kind.

"You are needed here. Besides, someone will have to make sure Lord Dáin keeps in line," he jabbed at the old dwarf, who grumbled amicably.

His son, Thorin III, stood restlessly at Kíli's side as his father looked his gear over with one last appraising eye. He gave the impression of a worried mother hen who was attempting to hide the fact that it was a worried mother hen. Tauriel found the spectacle very amusing.

Thorin III was very young, and strongly resembled his father with intricately braided red hair, a short beard, and a very broad chest. He bore two deadly looking axes crossed at his back and several hatchets swung from his wide leather belt. Tauriel wondered why anyone would need to carry so many weapons, but it seemed to be something of a cultural norm among dwarves, and they were certainly admirable fighters. Even Kíli, dressed in freshly oiled but unremarkable mail and leather, bore his bow, sword, and at least four visible daggers. He certainly seemed happier and more himself out of his formal clothing. A sentiment she could heartily appreciate, donned in her own leather armor with her bow at her back and her sword and dagger at her hips.

"Now lad, you be sure to mind the King and don't be causing any unnecessary trouble," Dáin was telling his obviously exasperated son for the third time since they'd left the mountain. Young Thorin rolled his eyes.

"Yes Da, now will you stop fussing, you're worse than Ma," he growled and shrugged out of his father's grasp, his round checks flushing.

Dáin glared and cuffed his son lightly on the ear. "Alright then, be gone with ya, and don't go off risking your foolish neck for nothing either or your mother will have both our heads."

"Don't worry My Lord," Bofur said happily, slinging an arm around the young dwarf's shoulders, who looked surprised, and more than a little wary at the gesture. "We'll keep the lad out of trouble." There was a certain playful menace in the shaggy dwarf's eyes that Young Thorin seemed to sense as well because he shifted ever so slightly away from him. Tauriel got the feeling that a level of initiation was going to be taking place on their long journey and she bit her lip to hide her amusement.

Dáin turned his attention to Kíli. "Be careful in the forests lad. Though you've the elf maid with you, those woods are treacherous, as you well know." He shot Tauriel a look that told her how very little he really trusted her. She didn't take it personally; she didn't trust him much either.

"We'll be careful Dáin, don't worry. Tauriel knows many paths through the forest, we'll be back before you know it."

"Aye," Dáin said, with an almost fatherly smile, and drew Kíli in for a quick, gruff hug and a hearty slap on the back that made her own back sting in sympathy. "May Mahal protect you lad." He pulled back, his eyes glistening alarmingly and then bowed low. "My King."

Lord Bard immediately followed suit, as did the remaining dwarves of Thorin's original company, and then all who had gathered. Tauriel's heart swelled at the sight as she caught the awed and humbled expression on Kíli's face. He caught her eye and his awe transformed into a bright smile that warmed her straight down to her toes and up to the tips of her ears.

They set off to leave, the eight of them with packs, horses, and ponies, when Dáin caught Kíli up at the last moment. Tauriel's keen ears caught the words he whispered close to his King's ear.

"Consider my proposition lad, it would unite our families and kingdoms, for the benefit of all."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the sudden tightening in Kíli's jaw and didn't miss the way his eyes flicked toward her, just for an instant.

"Aye, we'll discuss the matter again when I return, I promise," he assured the Chieftain softly before swinging up into his saddle.

Frowning, strangely troubled by the mysterious exchange, Tauriel followed suit. Orí beamed at her enthusiastically on her right side, which she returned a little more mutedly, and she caught Dáin's son glaring at her reproachfully on her left, a surprising amount of anger glittering in his eyes.

Young Thorin leaned toward her, face menacing, and whispered darkly, "I've got my eyes on you _Elf_. The King may trust you, but you can be sure that my father and I don't. Try anything and you'll meet the wrong end of my axe." He was a brave bristly thing, she'd give him that.

Tauriel sighed inwardly and shot him a measured, cold smirk and said, "I'm glad we understand each other then, _dwarf._ " She turned her back on him, not waiting for a reply, and sent her horse trotting forward as the party set off toward the remains of Lake Town, putting the Lonely Mountain to their backs.


	8. The Ties that Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What to say, what to say huh? This story has gotten progressively more difficult for me to write, but the reviews have been pouring in and you're all so lovely that I told myself I'd give it another shot. Fortunately I've come up with a few fun, new ideas (and an ending) so that helps. Some minor Battle of the Five Armies spoilers in here but really they are only obvious if you're looking for them -meaning you probably would have had to see the movie to understand the references.
> 
> Oh! I has a tumblr where I write drabbles and things (and also 'sneak peeks') go check it out: chashingperfectiontomorrow.

_I wanna feel your touch_

_It's burning me like an ember_

_But tender is not enough_

_I wanna feel lost together_

_So I'm giving in_

_So I'm giving in_

_To the trouble I'm in_

_-Trouble I'm In, by Twin Bed_

* * *

" **N** ow Orí, don't be too hard on Gimli when we return, you know how badly he wished to come," Gloín instructed sternly and the young dwarf rolled his eyes and smirked deviously. The sun was bright and clear above them and Tauriel found herself in high spirits. She'd always loved riding, feeling the movement of the horse beneath her and the wind tangling in her hair. Too many years she'd been caught under oppressive branches and rigorous commands; it had been far, far too long since she had clear blue skies above her. Being trapped under a mountain with a bunch of smelly, obstinate dwarves hadn't helped, but then neither had her growing affection for them.

"Didn't he try to sneak into your saddle bags?" Kíli asked, smiling broadly. He was more cheerful than Tauriel had seen him in weeks, sitting high and proud in the saddle of his pony, dressed in deep blue brocade trimmed in fur and shinning mail armor. His rakish smile did things to her heart and his eyes slid to hers too often to be an accident. He'd often found reason to ride near her, engaging her in conversation for much of the day.

They rode at a steady but leisurely pace, and while the road would be a long one, it was clear that they meant to take their time. At least until Erebor was out of sight.

Gloin grunted sourly, "You know very well he didn't-"

"Aye, he tried to sneak out under Bombur's cloak! There's enough room for at least three more dwarves in there," Bofur called and they all laughed while Gloín scowled and Bombur looked faintly affronted.

"Tell me," Tauriel asked when the laughter had subsided, "How old is your son?"

Gloin swelled with pride. "He'll be sixty three in a month. And a right hardy lad."

Tauriel frowned, "I'm afraid I don't know much about Dwarves, is that very young among your people?"

Gloín looked a tad perturbed. "No, not at all. A Dwarf is considered all but grown by his fortieth year. But Thorin thought it best if he remained behind for the journey, though he's not much younger than our bonny King there. And a bit older still than Young Thorin."

Kíli had the grace to flush and look a tad uncomfortable in the saddle. Young Thorin just scowled while Tauriel smiled and tossed her hair.

"And how old is the King, precisely," Tauriel asked, partially out of curiosity and partially to tease him. Kíli shot her a look that was somewhere between accusation and a desperate plea. Her answering smile may have been a _bit_ cheeky.

"Well, he's just turned seventy seven, isn't that right lad?" His tone was jaunty and knowing and Kíli glared.

"And you, Master Gloín?"

He chuckled, a hearty belly laugh, "One hundred and fifty nine, My Lady." He extended her a graceful bow with an exaggerated wave of his hand.

"How old are you _elf_? A decade perhaps?" Young Thorin snapped from the front and Kíli gave him a heavy and warning look, clearly displeased by his tone. Tauriel held onto her smile; it would take more than a cranky dwarf to spoil her day.

Bofur snorted, "Now lad, you can't just ask a lady how old she is. Hasn't your mam taught you anything?"

Young Thorin sniffed disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full height –making him slightly taller than Orí perhaps- and shooting daggers with his eyes. "I don't see a lady, I see an elf."

"Enough," Kíli barked, fury flashing across his face, but Tauriel waved a hand dismissively.

"I am six hundred and eighty three, Master Thorin."

They all looked at her with wide eyes and it was her turn to flush. Kíli looked almost… hurt and his gaze flashed quickly from hers. "It is not considered very old among my people," she rambled nervously, wondering at his reaction. Did he find her very old? Why would that displease him so? Did it matter? "My Lord Legolas is well over two thousand. In fact, I remain one of few my age. My people do not have children with the regularity of other races."

Orí's eyes nearly bulged out of his head and Bofur whistled. But Tauriel was distracted by the familiar stab of pain whenever she thought of her Prince, her closest friend and confidant, and turned her face ahead to conceal her emotions. She thought perhaps Kíli had noticed however, because she felt his eyes heavy on her. Her hands tightened on the reigns beneath his stare. It made her heart pound and her blood sing, but it also made her wary, afraid of herself and her reactions. She was not herself when he was near, or maybe she was _too_ much herself.

They rode in silence for a time as the sun began to dip lower in the sky and Tauriel squinted at the skyline. The land was sparse, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, but Mirkwood lay somewhere to the north-west, and their destination beyond.

"Will we ride all the way to Ered Luin?" she asked Kíli when the others had engaged in a conversation about the rebuilding or Erebor.

"Nay," Kíli said, "Word has been sent ahead, our people will meet us among the Grey Mountains."

"I did not think any Dwarves still resided in those mountains," she said, curious.

He smiled a little., "You're right, they do not, but the cities still remain and are used as temporary strongholds when the need arises."

"Is the path not too dangerous with Gundabad so near?"

"We sent scouts ahead before departing, the Keep remains empty but for the occasional Orc. With any luck we will reach the meeting place before them and ensure the lands are clear. They should be safe; most of our warriors remained behind when our company departed."

Tauriel frowned. "Why? Was Thorin not their King?"

Kíli grimaced and sighed, considering his response carefully. "After the fall of Erebor the clans become more divided than ever. My grandfather made us a comfortable home in the Blue Mountains and many of us were content there, believing perhaps our new halls could someday regain the glory of Belegost and Nogrod. But my grandfather was not satisfied in leaving Erebor to the dragon and took an army of dwarves with him to reclaim it. They.." he hesitated, eyes shadowed briefly, "They were all killed, and my grandfather captured. Thorin had believed he might still be alive until Gandalf told him he'd died in the dungeons of Dol Guldur."

Tauriel reached out and touched his shoulder briefly. "I am sorry, Kíli."

"It's alright," he said with a soft smile, "I never knew him. He died nearly a decade before I was born… but I know his loss hurt my Uncle greatly. But, well, it was his failed attempt at reclaiming the mountain that kept our men from willingly attempting to do so again."

"What made Thorin try?" she asked, unsure whether she should press him now, if the wounds were still too deep. But Kíli seemed eager to speak to her and willing to answer her questions.

"That would have been Gandalf's doing," he said with a smirk. "Told Thorin the time had come, that old prophecies were ready to be fulfilled. You know, typical wizard riddles, but he had a map… and a key."

"A key?"

"Aye, a key to a secret passage beneath the mountains. Thorin tried to garner support from the other dwarf lords, but without the Arkenstone and with his father's failures… well, they were not so eager to give it."

"Is that why-" She broke off and bit her lip, not sure how to ask of Thorin's dragon sickness.

He flashed her a brief smile of understanding. "The Arkenstone was the symbol of our line, of Durin's sons, but I think their unwillingness to support him without it did… things to him."

"Did your Uncle not posses a ring of power? I had thought your line claimed possession of one."

Kili looked grim and his hands tightened on the reigns, . "Another treasure lost to Orcs. My grandfather had been wearing the ring when he was captured. It is in enemy hands now."

"Kili… I'm sorry."

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, offering her a wry smile. "Don't be, it's certainly none of your doing." After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and gripped her hand. "I am glad you a here with us, Tauriel, My people hold long grudges but… in you I see the hope for overcoming past grievances."

His voice was soft, almost husky, and his eyes intent as they searched her face. She flushed and ducked her head. "You give me too much importance, My Lord. I wish only to serve my people as best I can."

He chuckled lightly and released her hand, but not before brushing his thumb over her knuckles and sending a wave of pleasant heat through her blood. She felt the sudden need for space, for room to breathe, to regain control of herself.

"I will scout ahead," she told him and he nodded briefly, looking broody and searching before she kicked her horse ahead.

Giving into a sudden and primal urge, she kicked her steed into a gate and then a hearty, heart-pumping gallop. She'd done this as a child, before the gates to Mirkwood had been closed more often than they'd been open. When her parents had still been alive, and her heart had been easier and free. Strangely, despite everything, her heart felt light and eager as she raced ahead, the promise of a bright future budding within her.

She eased her horse to a halt, the beast prancing and snorting its approval of the exercise. As the world spread out below her she allowed herself a brief, selfish moment to think of things she should not. She closed her eyes, the wind caressing her face, and thought of deep blue eyes, a ruggedly handsome face, and warm, wide hands. There were no eyes on her here, no one to study her actions or expressions, no one to try and decipher the inner workings of her heart.

For a few glorious moments, she let herself love him. She promised herself it would be enough; it _had_ to be enough, because it could never be more.

* * *

 **T** hey made camp on the moors above Laketown three days later. Their party, which had been merry and eager all that day, had sobered in the wake of past atrocities. They each set about putting up tents and feeding their horses, lost in thoughts better left forgotten with few words exchanged between them. Tauriel could almost smell the brimstone still on the air and hear the faint flapping of great wings across clear skies. She shivered despite herself and rubbed her arms as she recalled rivers of flame and the taste of ashes in her mouth. The screams of the dying echoed within her, leaving her cold and bereft. So much death, and there was a darkness somewhere in the East that promised more.

Over dinner, Kíli surprised her by producing a fiddle from his pack.

"Aye," Dwalin said with a grim nod of his head as he nursed a flagon of mead. "A night like this deserves a song."

Kíli took a few moments to tune his instrument, carefully tightening and testing each string with practiced ease. With a deep inhale, he started to play and it was slow and haunting and very lovely. It echoed for a moment, a solitary note in the deepening night, and then he began to sing. Heat flooded through her as his voice rose, strong and true, clear as the tolling of a low bell.

_"The world was young, the mountains green,_   
_No stain yet on the Moon was seen,_   
_No words were laid on stream or stone_   
_When Durin woke and walked alone._

Dwalin took up the tune next, his voice a deep thrum that seemed to vibrate beneath her feet. There was reverence and history within the words and the past suddenly hung heavy about them all.

_He named the nameless hills and dells;_   
_He drank from yet untasted wells;_   
_He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,_   
_And saw a crown of stars appear,_   
_As gems upon a silver thread,_   
_Above the shadow of his head._

The others took up the song as well, lifting their voices as the fiddle guided them sweet and true. Kíli's eyes were closed as he played and sang, his features impassioned with memory and loss. She could not take her eyes from him, for he was more beautiful than anything she had ever beheld in that moment. Suddenly, all that existed between them was light and song.

_The world was fair, the mountains tall,_   
_In Elder Days before the fall_   
_Of mighty kings in Nargothrond_   
_And Gondolin, who now beyond_   
_The Western Seas have passed away:_   
_The world was fair in Durin's Day._

_A king he was on carven throne_   
_In many-pillared halls of stone_   
_With golden roof and silver floor,_   
_And runes of power upon the door._   
_The light of sun and star and moon_   
_In shining lamps of crystal hewn_   
_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night_   
_There shone for ever fair and bright."_

The tune faded and fell, leaving her strangely hollow inside, as though something had been taken from her without her noticing. Kíli met her gaze but she found that she could not hold it, not with her heart thundering in her ears.

Orí looked to her after a long moment of silence, his wide eyes shining. "Will you sing us a song of your people, Tauriel?"

She flushed at the request, unsure of herself, and met Kíli's eyes briefly across the fire. They were intense and dark, the flickering campfire casting sharp shadows across his face. There was a heat in his gaze that made her skin tingle with a strange anticipation. He had a look of determination about him. As though he'd come to some conclusion and his face held the promise of something to come.

"Aye lass," Bofur encouraged, "What songs do your people sing when they wish to remember?"

Young Thorin glared sullenly –he'd been silent much of the day despite Bofur's prodding- and rose, stomping into his tent with a huff. The others sat in expectant silence, paying the young Dwarf little heed. Tauriel took a deep breath and stared into the flames as her heart grew heavy again in her chest. She began to sing before she'd even realized, forming the slow melody of her mother's favorite song. Among her people she was no great voice, leaving song and dance to those better suited for it. Hers was a dance of another kind and her blade sang a song more to her liking. Her eyes flicked up again and locked with the Dwarven King's. He held them until she was singing only to him and all the world fell away and into starlight. She felt as though her heart had fled from her chest and taken flight into the words themselves. She wondered if this was what it felt like to drown, slipping deeper and deeper a little at a time, helpless to fight the downward pull.

When the last note carried into the night, she watched as a tear tacked down Kíli's face. He reached up, dreamlike, and swept it quickly away, breaking their gaze and bringing her back to herself. Inhaling sharply, she felt her cheeks flush and her stomach sink. She stood, whipping her hands nervously on her trousers and found herself unable to look any of them in the eye.

"I- I will take the watch tonight," she said and quietly stepped out of the circle of light and flame, needing a moment to collect herself. They let her pass without a word, but she felt the weight of their eyes on her back and knew she had made a terrible mistake, revealed too much of herself.

Collecting her bow and arrows from her small tent, she walked a short ways to the lip of the valley and settled herself against a curved bolder. Laketown was a very harrowing sight, a black smear in the distance that had grown only more dismal as they'd neared. Burnt and ruined towers were blackened like dead, crooked fingers that reached up into the gently falling night. Thin tendrils of smoke rose, grasping at the first twinkling stars, adding to a persistent and murky haze that clung fast and thick in the air above. How long would it take for the smoke to clear, she wondered absently. How long before the deaths of those who had fallen were lost and forgotten?

But her thoughts were not to be distracted even as she fought to put them aside.

She had made a mistake in coming with the dwarves, in staying among them all. She had sensed the danger in her heart, the source of her confusion and the reasons behind her misplaced emotions. But still she had lingered, foolishly thinking her heart was something she could control. It had been silly of her to believe that whatever had been kindled between them would ever be allowed to grow and flourish.

What place in the world would welcome a love such as theirs? He was the King of nearly an entire race of people and she little better than a banished servant, their people forever at odds with one another. He would marry one of his own kind, a match that would unite them and bring peace to scattered clans. In her heart she knew that was what Lord Dain had wished to discuss with Kíli before they'd departed. A match between their lines, a means to heal any rifts that remained, and it was a wise alliance to make. It made sense; it was for the best, so why did it hurt so much? Loving her would ruin him, it would ruin them all-

"Tauriel."

She bit her lip to fight down a sudden sob at the sound of his voice and the press of his boots on dry earth. She should have heard him coming, but her senses were dulled and muddied as they so often were where he was concerned, another of many reasons they could not continue. Another reason that she should return in shame amongst her people before she made matters even worse. What had she been thinking? Believing she could remain among them?

"Tauriel," he whispered again, his voice full of longing as he came to stand beside her. She could not look at him, she would not. But she didn't have to. She could sense the thrumming beat of his heart, the heat that exuded from him in waves, and the soft, sad look in his eyes.

After a long and charged moment of silence, he sat near her with a trembling sigh as she drew her knees to her chest, watching the last rays of the sun set behind the trees of her home in the distance. Once those trees had offered her sanctuary, a place of belonging. Looking at them now they seemed only a cage. A means to defend and conceal from perhaps even herself, and as much as she knew she should return, her heart rebelled.

"You should not be here," she said at last. They were close enough to touch and a charged energy lingered between them like invisible but unbreakable threads. How easy would it be to reach out and take his hand, to thread her fingers through his and let her head dip down to rest upon his shoulder, to smell the scent of his hair and skin –like leather and metal and horse with a hint of something else, something sharper and muskier. Her hands fisted against her legs and she forced down a tremble.

He chuckled and it was made rough and empty by emotion. "Perhaps not, but I could not stay away not when-"

"Don't," she hissed sharply, "Don't say it, you mustn't." She couldn't bear to hear it. Her control was slipping by degrees and if he spoke the words it would leave her completely and what would she have left in the end but regrets? Bitter, bitter regrets.

He drew in a harsh breath and rose, pacing to the edge of the ridge so that his body was silhouetted in the last vestiges of light. He had once compared her to a dream. Something far away and impervious, but it was he who seemed ethereal, distant and suddenly untouchable.

As if reading her thoughts, he spoke.

"I remember that night in Laketown like it happened only a moment ago," he whispered, just loud enough for her keen ears to hear. Tauriel trembled at the admission. She'd thought perhaps that he had been too ill and delirious to recall what he had said; what he had implied. Though in her heart, she had known better. One look into his eyes had told her that he remembered, that he had meant the words he'd spoken to her.

"I could feel myself slipping away," he continued softly. "Somewhere dark and inviting. Almost…warm. Then your voice called to me, pulling me from the shadows and into light. And I understood then what you meant of starlight and memory. You were so far above me Tauriel, but I could not help but reach."

He turned toward her, his eyes filled with desperation and sincerity, and they spoke the words she had begged him not to say. Her heart skipped and lodged in her throat as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Kíli _please_ ," she begged, releasing her legs as they shifted back to earth. But he advanced, standing before her like a man in need of respite, like a man who'd finally returned home after a long and arduous journey. She could feel the heat of his legs so near her own as she stared up at him. As if in a daze, he reached out a hesitant hand to trace gently across her cheek. Under his gaze, in the swell of his affection, she felt alive. It terrified her and she shook with the raw power of it even as her face turned into his touch.

"We-we have both lost so much Tauriel," he said and his other hand rose to cup her face gently, as though he feared she might break if he held her too firmly. They were strong hands, scarred and rough, but also gentle and compassionate.

"There has been so much pain and suffering." His voice broke and he swallowed heavily, his thumbs sweeping across her cheeks in slow circles that robbed her of all coherent thought. "How can I deny the light and warmth that lies between us? How can anything so pure and honest be bad, _amrâlimê_?"

She wasn't familiar with the word, muttered in the guttural tongue of his people, but she knew an endearment when she heard one. The _way_ he said it made her breathing hitch and her body tremble. Kíli's breath had grown ragged in turn and he gently trailed the blunt edge of his fingers over the tips of her pointed ears, down her neck and into her hair. She came to life at his touch, every part of her singing in tandem and bestowing its blessing. Never in her long life had she felt anything like it. Her people were not known to be overly physical, at least not until they had found a mate, and it was a bond that could never be broken, that would last all the ages. Fear and passion warred within her, but Kíli's eyes held her steady.

"Your hair is like molten bronze in places and pure fire in others," he murmured as she shook and his fingers trailed through her hair in reverence before returning to her face with telling purpose. Her eyes slipped shut of their own accord and he leaned forward, the moist heat of his breath sweet and warm from the mead as it swept across her lips and face. Two tears escaped from beneath her lashes and he swept them away. There was a pause, like the quiet before a storm, a moment where she might have pulled back and spared them what could never be.

But she couldn't, she couldn't-

The touch of his mouth to hers was hesitant and unsure, but sweet, oh so sweet and terrible and perfect. When she didn't resist, he pressed again, firm and insistent as he filled her senses. She shouldn't, she knew she shouldn't, but the Valar help her she kissed him back. She kissed him back with a sob that was half moan as her fingers reached to feel the bristle of his short beard. The hair prickled at her skin but she found the sensation pleasing rather than strange. Her hands journeyed farther and she felt the softness of his hair and the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his ear and the hot thundering pulse in his neck. She had never felt more at peace, more _real_ , as though the stars had suddenly aligned within her.

He pulled away from her a moment later and in doing so took a piece of her with him forever. She closed her eyes and let her hands rest on his shoulders, sharing his air and wondering how she could ever come back from this. Would she have to?

Drawing a shuddering breath he smoothed her hair and kissed her brow while whispering sweet words to her in his own tongue and then in hers, driving the dark thoughts away from her. For the first time in many long years she felt as though she belonged, and for a timeless moment... it was enough.

Neither noticed the figure crouched in the brush, watching intently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Artwork added at the end of this chapter was provided by the lovely http://silverchain.tumblr.com/ check her out, she's wonderful!


	9. Promises in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of clarification for this fic because I think its probably pretty easy to get confused considering how much the movie differed from the book sometimes. When discussing Thorin's father (Kili's grandfather) I followed the book rather than the movie. Thrain was not captured at the gates of Moria, he was in fact captured on an ill-fated journey to reclaim Erebor when the gold lust started to get the better of him. I stretched the truth a bit with the whole 'entire army of dwarves killed' bit though, you know, for drama.
> 
> Anyway, look! An update! Hopefully everyone enjoys some more fluffiness before we start to get into the fun with the dwarves from Ered Luin and, more importantly, the Princess Dis. Keep a look out for Legolas, he's just itching to get back into this story. ;)
> 
> The reviews have been pure awesomeness as we all collectively forget the ending of BotFA and forever live in a state of pure denial. It's beautiful, isn't it? Anyway, your words truly give this story life.

_Oh, I'm a mess right now_   
_Inside out_   
_Searching for a sweet surrender_   
_But this is not the end_

_I can't work it out_   
_How going through the motions_   
_Going through us_

_And, oh, I've known it for the longest time_   
_And all of my hopes_   
_All of my words_   
_Are all over written on the signs_   
_When you're on my road_   
_Walking me home, home, home, home, home_

_And though I've only caused you pain,_   
_You know but all of my words will always be low_   
_Although all the lies we spoke_   
_When you're on my road_   
_Walking me home, home, home, home, home_

_-I'm a Mess, By Ed Sheeran_

* * *

**T** hey dismounted at the ragged edge of Mirkwood and let the horses graze as the sun rose fully in a heavily clouded sky. The promise of snow hung thick in the air, an expectant chill that crept under clothing and armor and roughened lips while reddening ears and noses. Tauriel flipped back the hood of her cloak and stared up into the shadowed branches, wondering when they had become so foreboding, so unwelcoming and perilous.

"I promised myself I'd never enter these cursed woods again," Dwalin said grumpily, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. "Is there no way to go around?"

"These are not the woods of my childhood," Tauriel murmured, almost to herself. She'd known it for years of course, but like the slow and steady decay of the world, she'd managed to overlook the worst of it. "A darkness grows within it still, a taint that has not yet been swept away." She reached out and touched a branch wondering what, if anything, could heal her homeland.

"Is it safe to travel?" Kíli asked as he paced to her side. She could see that his previous visit was still fresh in his mind as his eyes darted between shifting shadows and pale rays of light. The forest was certainly dangerous to those who did not know where to step, and increasingly so to those who did. He stood close to her, his shoulder brushing her arm and his breath a soft cloud obscuring his face, his nearness made the chill of the wind less biting and her melancholy less potent. His presence made her not so afraid in the face of the unknown, she realized with sudden clarity. He gave her courage, as though it was she and him, back to back, with the darkness of the world surrounding them. The urge to take his hand was sudden and strong and she clenched her fingers tightly together in resistance.

"I can lead you on safe paths," she said and the words took on a sudden weight, a shared glance that carried the new revelation of what was between them. Kíli smiled softly and she returned it tentatively.

It had been three days since the night on the moors above Laketown and they'd had little time to speak in private since. But there was no denying that there was an increased _awareness_ of one another, a subtle but profound shift in their mannerisms. The need to wish one another goodnight, lingering over their packs and tents as they helped tighten buckles and straps, hands brushing, glances that lasted just a little longer than necessary and smiles that were slow and warm. After so much death, darkness and sorrow, it was like the dawn rising after a long and terrible night. Hope and happiness lifted her heart, and she began to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for them, a path that might not lead into sorrow. A path that had been born in his smile, within the devilish gleam of his eyes and in the miracle of his life, which, against all odds, had been spared.

"I've no doubt," he said at a deep murmur and it was full of meaning. His hand brushed hers, trailing fire through the chill, and her fingers reached and met his in turn.

"Will Thranduil let us pass?" Bofur asked behind them as the first glittering flakes of snow began to fall. Kíli jumped a little, as though he'd forgotten they were not alone, and his hand withdrew.

Tauriel flushed and shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Stepping forward and into the shade beneath the first reaching branches, she considered their options. Her King had certainly not been happy with her upon their departure, but had she been truly banished or merely placed elsewhere, a Captain turned Ambassador? Was she welcome amongst her own people? She couldn't be sure, perhaps she was more of a liability to the dwarves than she had previously considered.

She sighed, "There is a guard post nearby, I will speak with the scouts stationed there. Perhaps it is best we inform King Thranduil of our intentions."

Dwalin grunted and glowered at her, "Hang asking your King for permission-"

"You'd prefer to be shot on sight then?" she snapped. Dwarves were easily the most stubborn creatures in all of Arda, though she supposed, considering recent events, that Elves were little better.

Dwalin bristled but Kíli waved him down, standing between him and Tauriel. "You should not go alone," he said seriously. She could tell he did not relish the thought of informing her kin about their intentions but he, at least, was willing to see reason.

"It would be better if I spoke to them on my own… I-I'm not sure what the King has said about my departure and I can't be sure how I will be received." Her gut tightened as she truly began to understand the magnitude of what she may have lost. She had longed to see the world outside her home, but she had not considered that it might come at the cost of her entire world and all her people.

Kíli's eyes narrowed. "All the more reason for you not to go alone."

Tauriel sighed and shook her head. "Better one out of favor She-Elf than six cranky dwarves."

Bofur put his hands on his hips. "Cranky?"

Young Thorin scuffed his boot angrily across the frozen grass. "We should just go around the foul place, stick to the base of the mountains." It was the first thing he'd said all day.

Tauriel shook her head again. "The mountain paths are still dangerous and likely snow covered. The forest will provide cover and shelter-"

"And giant spiders," Dwalin interjected.

"And prissy elves with dungeons," Orí supplied.

"And let's not forget the magical water you can't touch or drink-" Bombur added.

" _And_ if we follow the river we can continue to trace its path to the Greylin," Tauriel finished with a huff, ignoring them all entirely.

Kíli frowned and rubbed a hand over his face before turning, hands on his hips, to scowl into the woods. His kinsmen waited in expectant silence, another subtle and profound shift. Opinionated the dwarves might be, but they had already begun to give their young uncrowned King deference. It said much for their faith in him.

"Alright," Kíli said reluctantly, "Tauriel will speak to the scouts, let them inform the King of our intentions and hopefully he will grant us his blessing. We may have need of his hospitality should things go sour on our journey and well… I made a promise to try and strengthen ties, seems as though this might be a reasonable first step."

All the dwarves' eyes flicked her direction, their expressions ranging from vaguely accusatory (Dwalin) to outright disdain (Young Thorin).

Tauriel cleared her throat and nodded, feeling oddly sheepish. "I will not be long. And should the worst happen and King Thranduil refuses us passage, I know more ways than one to pass unseen."

Gloin grumbled and promptly sat with his back to a tree, glowering through the steadily falling snowflakes as Bombur sat beside him, munching good naturedly on a large sausage. Tauriel sighed, steeling herself for a moment, and then stepped within the confines of the forest. Kíli caught her quickly by the arm, his eyes penetrating and colored by supreme reluctance. "You've got three hours, then I'm coming in after you." His voice allowed no room for discussion.

She couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips as some of her unease melted away, "Understood, my lord." Her tone was teasing and she briefly covered his hand with hers.

He gave her a fleeting smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes and released her. "Three hours," he warned and Tauriel nodded, then turned and leapt over root and bramble with ease, listening to the telling song of the birds and the rustle of wild life. Looking back she could just see his silhouette, dark and inviting against the snowy backdrop, watching her. It gave her courage, _he_ gave her courage, and with a deep breath she leapt into the trees, intent on her purpose.

* * *

 **T** auriel found the guard tower easily enough and, once she'd identified herself, she was welcomed with open arms and honest excitement. 'Relocated' she may have been, but the men and women of the guard were still hers.

She'd trained most of them herself and many had become more like family than subordinates. And, as luck would have it, Lieutenant Curial was one of those on duty; they'd undergone their training together and had always been close. It was hard not to be under the severe tutelage of the former Guard Captain –who'd thought it perfectly reasonable to have them leaping through trees for days at a time with no rest and little food. Trial and suffering had brought them together, but mutual respect and compassion had kept them that way. Tauriel had believed Curial deserved the Captaincy, had told her King so when he'd offered it to her instead, but Thranduil had taken her words as mere obligatory humility. She'd meant it and she'd long believed she had been the wrong choice, that her King had favored her above her skills.

"It is wonderful to see you, Captain," he said as they greeted one another, gripping forearms and touching their heads lightly together. He was a tall, graceful Elf, his beauty marred somewhat by a large scar near his left eye that trailed across his sharp cheek bones and along his jaw. He'd acquired it during an Orc ambush and she'd told him it made him look more dashing and dangerous, and it did, but it also made him appear crueler than he was, harder and less approachable. He was, in truth, one of the kindest elves she had ever known. Behind him was Delveon and Gathelia, two of the youngest guards among them but highly skilled and very capable. Gathelia had the makings of a Lieutenant, with a steely determination that had become increasingly hard to find among their people. They both bowed to her, lending their wordless support.

"I am Captain no more, Curial," she said kindly and found that it panged her a little to say it. She'd worked long and hard to achieve her position and she was the youngest elf in memory to obtain it, but it had been just another cage, another means of keeping the rest of the world at bay.

Curial's eyes were sincere as he thumped a fist against his breast. "You will always be my Captain, my lady."

She flushed with warmth. "I would rather be your friend, Curial."

He grinned slightly, eyes softening. "Always a friend, Tauriel."

"I've come to seek permission for safe passage," she said, turning back the folds of her cloak and shifting her bow more comfortably on her back. It was much warmer beneath the trees, the breath of winter faint, like a lingering whisper. The scout tower was old, its origins reaching back into the first settling of the Greenwood, but well kept beneath the heavy branches. Though little more than a stone platform, it offered supplies and a useful vantage for their purposes. Once their kingdom had stretched to the very edge of the forest in all directions, through every glade and across every brook, but this tower was one of very few they continued to hold so far into the wood. Every decade their kingdom shrank more and more.

Curial frowned in confusion, "You need not ask permission, my lady, surely you know that."

Tauriel hesitated, ducking her head. "I am… unsure what the King may have said of my departure."

"Little I fear, only that you've been assigned to serve among the Dwarves for a time. A show of good will." His tone was vaguely disapproving and his eyes searched hers curiously.

Some of the tension leaked out of her. Whether she'd been banished or not, at least such knowledge had not been made public. "Who has been made Captain in my absence?"

Expecting it would have in fact been Curial himself who'd been promoted, she was shocked when he said, "Lieutenant Welethen has been given that honor."

"What?" She demanded, "Why? Half the men hate him and the other think him merely a waste of space and armor."

Curial shrugged but a flash of something, anger perhaps but not at her, crossed his disfigured face. "It is not my position to question the commands of the King," he said and then, after a moment's hesitation, added, "There are some who believe he was promoted because… well, it is no secret that you do not like him overly much, my lady."

"Ah," she said blandly as understanding dawned. Her King was no fool, he knew that many of the Guard would remain loyal to her, and he had shown how little he trusted her by ensuring one she doubted took her place.

Her heart ached in her breast. Once, she had thought Thranduil as a father, a protector, her King and Lord, but as the years had waned the bitterness and distrust in his heart had grown and festered. What now did she mean to him, if anything at all?

"Is it passage for only yourself you are asking, my lady?" Curial pressed.

"No, I-" she looked to Delveon and Gathelia who were listening intently. "Perhaps we could speak alone?"

Curial nodded, "Of course. Scouts, survey the perimeter and then provide me with a full report."

Delveon looked mildly mutinous but they both departed with quick bows before leaping gracefully into the trees. She waited until the faint patter of their feet faded before speaking again. "I travel with a company of six dwarves intent on retrieving their kinsmen from the Blue Mountains."

Curial's eyebrows shot up and Tauriel added, after a moment's hesitation, "One of the dwarves is also the uncrowned King Under the Mountain." She lifted her shoulders and gave him a small, faintly apologetic smile.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I see now why you sought to gain our permission. The King, as I'm sure you know, is not overly fond of Dwarves and even less so after the battle at the gates of Erebor."

Tauriel grimaced a little as Curial paced to the edge of the platform. "Tell me, Tauriel, do you believe in these Dwarves? That they can be trusted?"

"Yes," she said empathetically and without hesitation. "Yes, I do. They are stubborn and obstinate but they are also kind, loyal and brave."

He turned toward her with mild astonishment. "You've grown fond of them, haven't you?"

"I-I" She stuttered and then flushed as the memory of firm, warm lips and the bristle of coarse facial hair against her skin came unbidden to her mind. "I uh, yes, yes you might say that. But I wish only to ease the tensions between our peoples." Which was not precisely a lie, but it was also certainly not the entire truth.

Curial sighed deeply, "I should report your passage to the Captain." Tauriel bit back a groan. "But…" he said with a slight smile, "perhaps the message can be delayed by a _few_ days, long enough to put you at the borders of our lands."

Tauriel let out a sigh of relief and took his hand in hers. "Thank you Curial my friend, you have my deepest gratitude."

He flushed a little but gripped her hand in turn, "I cannot say that I understand this Tauriel, nor the King's command that you stay in Erebor, but you've long had the best interests of our people at heart and I will trust you here now if you say it is still so."

"It is my friend, it is." And it was, it always would be. Her people were fading from Middle-Earth, their power waning like the tides against the moon, but they were not yet gone. There was time still, to fight back against the darkness, even if that darkness slept closer to home and turned its back on the suffering of the world.

Curial nodded then dipped his head to her. "You should go and quickly. Take the hidden paths, though I cannot vouch for their safety. The forest remains dark yet, but patrols watch the river roads and I fear they may stop you. I would tell you to walk the mountain trails but stray bands of Orcs still wander there and large storms are brewing in the north."

"As you say, we will travel swiftly I swear it." She made to depart, keen on returning before Kíli could come barreling in after her. She had no doubt he'd meant what he said and she'd little time left to return.

"Tauriel," Curial called after her and she turned to peer up at him, his face shadowed by his hair and the perpetual twilight of the wood. "I know not the will nor heart of our King, but you've friends here still, if you have need of me –of _us-_ we will do what we can."

Tauriel's heart clenched and she bowed in her turn. "Thank you, Curial, your friendship has always meant much to me."

"May the Valar watch over you, Captain."

"And you, Lieutenant."

* * *

 **T** auriel burst through the trees almost precisely three hours from when she'd left and Kíli, who'd been leaning broodily beneath a twisted oak, snapped to attention. His face was etched with relief and he rushed toward her. Despite Dwarves' natural resistance to extreme temperatures, he seemed frozen through.

"Thank Mahal," Dwalin said, shivering beneath a heavy cloak. "Lad was about to go running after you, was contemplating tying him to the damn tree."

Kíli glared but Tauriel spoke before he could muster up a retort, "We must hurry, I can lead us down secret paths but we've little time."

"Does that mean your King has withheld his gracious blessings?" Gloin asked grouchily, his beard and cloak snow covered. A true storm was stirring, promising bitter and heavy snowfall by true dark.

"I spoke with one of my Lieutenants and we agreed that it was better we move unseen. An elf who has little love for me has taken over the Captaincy. We've likely more to fear of his interference than the King's."

"We should take the mountain paths!" Young Thorin cried, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

Orí looked upward to the threatening clouds then toward the already snow covered mountains with a disbelieving look, bouncing from foot to foot as he tried to keep warm.

Dwalin sighed and then surprised her by saying, "Nay lad, with this storm and whatever Orc filth managed to escape back to their holes, the forest is likely our best bet."

"And you're sure we can trust her," Young Thorin spat, "How do we know she won't turn us over to her true King once we're caught in her net."

"We've been over this _cousin_ and I've half a mind to bind and gag you for the remainder of our trip. _I_ trust Tauriel, she will not lead us astray."

The young dwarf met Kíli's harsh gaze and something about his expression made her blood run cold, as though he were asking if _Kili_ were in fact trust worthy. Perhaps Lord Dain was not so gracious as he'd begun to appear, perhaps there were plans in motion to displace the headstrong young king. Tauriel should have seen it earlier; instead she'd assumed the dwarf's ire was directed merely at her. She narrowed her eyes at Young Thorin. She would be keeping a much closer eye on him.

"We'll have to leave the horses, they cannot travel where we are going," she told Kíli and he nodded grimly.

"Gather your things everyone," he shouted over the growing wind which tossed snowflakes into her face and caught at her eyes and lips. "Take only what we need and send the ponies on their way. They know the way home."

"You can't be serious-" Young Thorin began before Bofur innocently knocked into him while unloading his gear and sent the younger dwarf flying into the snow.

"My apologies!" Bofur cried with mock surprise.

Young Thorin came up red faced and sputtering and Tauriel bit her lip to keep from laughing outright. Gloin took no such efforts and slapped at his belly in supreme amusement. Bombur began stuffing his trousers with bread and wrapped cheeses while Dwalin carefully stowed at least a dozen different knives and daggers about his person. _Dwarves_ , she thought and shook her head.

Kíli for his part was staring into his pack as though it held all the secrets of Arda as he tried to arrange his gear in a more productive manner. He was clearly growing frustrated at his lack of progress

"Here," she said, bending forward and reaching into his pack to arrange one of his tunics, "Fold them like this, they take up less room."

He grunted, clearly embarrassed by his predicament but dutifully copied her movements. "Well I'll be," he said when he was done and rocked back on his heels, "That makes quite the difference."

Tauriel grinned, "I spent years mastering the little appreciated skill of packing a well-organized satchel."

He chuckled, "I bow to your expertise my lady, any other useful tips you wish to bestow?"

"Hum," she murmured, tapping at her chin and peering into his pack, "Well, you could likely stow these in your belt and attach these two here to the outside leaving room for your spare cloak."

He did as she instructed and then looked to her with a smile the likes of which she hadn't seen since the simple night they'd shared in the dungeons of Mirkwood, which now seemed a lifetime ago. Crouched together they were nearly eye level, and with the snow falling in earnest and all sounds dulled and vision obscured to a hazy dream, it felt as though they were caught in a world all their own. He reached out with a gloved hand and displaced a snowflake from a strand of her hair, the tips of his fingers grazing her cheek. Flakes caught in his lashes, which were surprisingly long, and she had the sudden urge to kiss them away, to follow a path from each eyelid over the bridge of his nose to his chapped lips. To warm his cheeks with her hands and his mouth with her lips until they'd both forgotten the cold, the snow, and everything else. Anything to keep that smile, pure and sweet, on his face just a little while longer.

"We should hurry," she said, not moving.

"Yes, we should," he agreed and took her bare, cold fingers between his and pressed his lips to them, beard rough against her skin. Tauriel felt a shiver creep up her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

He helped her to her feet, his hand keeping hers for a moment longer, fingers squeezing, before he released them.

"Alright there Dwalin?" he called as the wind began to howl, his figure indistinct in the frozen blanket that crested over them all. She felt for the ponies as they turned them loose, but they were hardy stock and had seen many harsh winters.

"Aye! Let's get out of this misery!"

"This way!" she shouted after gathering her own gear, and led them quickly into the trees. Her hand was still oddly warm where Kíli's lips had touched her and she found she was barely chilled at all.

* * *

" **T** his seems ominous," Gloin commented dryly as they stood at the brink of a dark passageway that led _down_. The forest was quiet here, old and dangerous, but Tauriel knew this part of the wood like the back of her hand. She'd played here as a child, exploring the ancient ruins and chasing her friends among the ghosts of the past. Few came here now; few ever left their shrinking city.

"I wasn't aware dwarves feared caves Master Gloin," Tauriel teased and the dwarf glowered at her as Bofur laughed.

Night was creeping closer and soon the forest would be pitch black. They needed to make camp before vision was completely lost and she knew just the place. The caves had been cleverly designed long ago for swift, secret travel, with air vents that led campfire smoke far and away from their actual locations.

"Come on Gloin," Bofur said, "I'll hold yer hand."

Gloin shoved at his younger compatriot before manfully stomping down the steps. Tauriel rolled her eyes and swiftly made a torch from a gathered branch and bits of cloth from her pack, Ori helped her light it and they hurried after their companion. Gloin had stopped in the dark, apparently realizing only belatedly that he could not proceed blindly, and looked relieved when they came upon him.

"What is this place?" Kíli asked, lighting another torch from hers.

"In the common tongue I suppose they would be called the 'Deep Roads,'" she said quietly, though her voice still carried. "Old, secret passages beneath the forest, created long ago before anyone, elf or otherwise, lived beneath the trees. They are used rarely now and are not always safe."

"Great," Bofur grumbled and removed his hat to shake the dirt from it. He jumped and scowled as feathered root branches swept at his mated hair. "So long as it's not giant spiders I think we can manage."

"There are worse things in these woods than giant spiders Master Dwarf," Tauriel said, thinking of strange dark shadows that moved quickly and against the light. Giant spiders might have been the more pressing of her people's concerns, but darker, more powerful forces lingered in the deepest parts of the forest.

"What a lovely thing to say when we're surrounded by darkness on all sides," Young Thorin commented dryly and Bofur snorted.

"There are markings here, strange ones, the like of which I've never seen," Kíli said curiously, standing close to her side and peering at the curved walls. The passages were perfect cylinders and completely smooth, a wonder to behold but eerie in their mystery and flawlessness.

"There are none living who can," she said, "But they help to mark one's passage." She stepped to Kíli's side and read the runes there. There were near a set of small caves that would serve as a good place to rest for the night, well hidden and with enough room to be warm and comfortable.

"Quickly, there is a place nearby," she said and led them on, ducking to avoid hanging roots and spider's webs of the fortunately _normal_ sized variety.

"I did not think elves enjoyed being under ground," Bombur said after a quiet spell, his voice carrying away and then back again.

Tauriel pulled a face as a damp bit of earth caught the side of her face and she slapped it away with a slight noise of disgust. "We do not, but these paths have proven useful in the past. They are dangerous if one does not know the proper trails, but fortunately something about them keeps most foul things at bay."

"We hope," Kili muttered and nudged her good naturedly with his shoulder. She gave him a smile in turn, catching the playful look in his eyes and the smirk tugging up one corner of his mouth. It was easy to see that away from the Erebor and all it held –and didn't hold- he was different, more himself, carefree and happier. He was running, she realized, running from the fate that awaited him, but then… wasn't she? Weren't they all? She was running from the ramifications of their actions, she knew that much, but she couldn't help herself. It was too late for her to turn back now, perhaps it always had been. The world outside had caught her up and there was little now she could do to break free.

They walked on for another hour or so, talking little as the pressure of close, slick walls weighed down on them. The Deep Roads were unpleasant for many reasons, but the sheer feeling of _oldness_ was the worst. As though ages may have passed outside between one breath and another, time shifting strangely in the dank air until all sense of it was lost.

She eventually turned them down a side tunnel and into a series of small caverns where they all breathed a sigh of relief. Tauriel groaned and stretched her back.

Orí smirked at her as he shrugged off his pack. "See, being short has its advantages," he said and she kicked a rock at him.

Young Thorin was tasked with getting a fire together, gathering bits of dried leaves and the firewood Bombur had been wise enough to bring –though she suspected the dwarf was often wise when his belly was on the line. Soon a cheery collection of flames was burning and the company unrolled their mats and settled in for the night.

After their humble meal, Tauriel took the watch. She took it as often as they'd let her, and tonight none of the dwarves countered her offer, wary as they were in the strange caverns. She thought it silly they protested at all, but she suspected their thrice damned dwarven stubbornness was likely at fault. They required rest, she did not, it only made sense.

Tonight however, the long loneliness of the night above seeped through the earth and touched her heart. Night, under the careful watch of the stars, had been a time of music and conversation for her people. Now it was a time for too much reflection.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Kíli's face in the firelight as Bombur snored raucously and Dwalin grumbled in his sleep. Valar, he was so young. So very, very young, the cares of the day washed away in the lull of sleep. He reminded her of innocence lost, of faith and honor, of what she may have been like had her parents not been brutally murdered. He'd said that in her he saw the hope for a new future, but it was in him the future resided. Few elves considered the great gift that mortality provided, too lost in the long years of their lives. Humans and dwarves appreciated each day for what it was –a precious commodity that could be taken from them at any moment. It gave their lives meaning, purpose, and it wasn't till she'd met a young idealistic dwarf that she'd realized she'd long lost hers. Whatever happened between them, whatever fate would decide, for that she would always be grateful.

* * *

 **H** e came to her hours later, when the fire had burned low and the night had fallen above them, just as she'd known he would. She sat in the long hall of the outer tunnel with her bow at her side, peering into the darkness with sightless eyes, her mind far away until she'd heard him stirring.

"You should be resting," Tauriel said as he settled in beside her. Sitting, their height difference was nearly diminished, the length of his torso compensating for the shortness of his legs.

Without a word he reached out and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "What do you think about as we all sleep?"

She sighed and leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, enjoying the press of his warm hand as it grounded her to the here and now. "I often let my mind and spirit wander-"

"To pace among the stars?" he asked, teasing her a little as his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

She smiled softly, "Sometimes, but here it is harder. Tonight I think of little but what tomorrow might bring."

He hummed low in the back of his throat, "Oh? And what does tomorrow hold, do you think?"

"Well, where you're concerned I'm sure danger will be involved. It certainly seems to follow after you."

He chuckled, the deep laugh that he seemed to reserve just for her and it made her skin tingle. "It's lucky I have you about to watch over me then."

"Yes," she said, though her smile faded. "Though it was a close call there before the gates. I-I" she stumbled over her words, emotion clogging her throat as she squeezed his hand in hers, "I am sorry I could not save Fí-"

"Hush now," he said softly but firmly and his free hand reached out to tilt her chin toward his, his eyes shining and so warm in the darkness that she forgot her worries and discomfort.

"Do not blame yourself, you told me once not to carry the weight of the dead, I would not have you carry it in my stead. My brother died protecting our Uncle and King, as I would have done had Mahal not brought you to me."

She flushed a little and covered his hand with hers. On an impulse she turned her face to place a gentle kiss on his calloused palm. He drew in a quick breath and brushed his thumb across her lip as his fingers dipped into her hair.

"I do not know what manner of fate brought you to me, _amrâlimê_ , but I will never forsake it, or you." His voice was full of promise and even as it brought bright joy to her heart it also weighed deep in her belly. Their lives were not their own, she knew that, but under his touch it hardly seemed to matter.

"What does that word mean?" she asked huskily as his forehead came to rest against hers, his dark gaze flickering between her eyes and mouth and he licked his lips even as a smile tugged at them.

"I think you know," he murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted his head with purpose toward hers. He smelt of fire and leather and something sweet and pure that made her mouth water.

"Perhaps I do," she whispered the moment before their lips met, forging a secret promise between them in the dark and forgotten places of the world.

The kiss began much like the first, gentle and hesitant, but a growing hunger burned within her that was matched in him. She reached for him as one of his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer and branding her with his touch as his hair tangled beneath her fingers and his beard scratched at her jaw, creating a perfect counter point to the softness of his lips. They parted for breath, staring briefly into one another's eyes, and then met again. Tauriel thought, dimly as though cloaked in a thick but pleasant fog, that she would not mind spending many more nights like this.

Eventually their paths would lead them back to the great gates of Erebor, to all that awaited them there, but here, now, there was only the two of them and the whisper of their mingling breaths and the gentle slide of their hands as the fire sputtered and then went out.


	10. Writing on the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, the reviews have been awesome. Seriously. You all are freaking wonderful and I just- I want to just hug each and everyone of you. So, long story short, I lost half this chapter and had to recreate it. It ended up going a slightly different direction but I like it and I hope you do too. Enjoy.
> 
> Also! I finally got a beta guys! Finaaaaalllly. So she's already gone through and fixed up the previous chapters as well as this one, so there may be a few minor changes. Shout out to Austin B for being the best ever and for running through all my crazy ideas with me. Someday we will have our team jackets made and we shall be the envy of all the fandom. Another equally important shout out to Irrel who created the cover art for this fic -look at it guys, look at it. It's amazing. You can check her out on Tumblr (username: irrel). Speaking of Tumblr... drop by mine for sneak peeks and drabbles or if you just wanna drop a line (username: chasingperfectiontomorrow).
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all of you who keep the muse (and this ship) alive.

_And all this too shall pass_   
_This loneliness won't last for long_   
_I wasn't there to take his place_   
_I was ten thousand miles away_   
_So when you hear my voice_   
_When you say my name_   
_May it never give you pain_

_-Gale Song, The Lumineers_

* * *

**A** fter two days below ground, Tauriel was miserable.

Her back ached from hunching through low tunnel passages, she was filthy from dripping roots and sticky fungus, and she longed for the touch of sunlight and the scent of fresh air. Only Curial's words of warning kept her from escaping via one of several exit tunnels, if simply for a few deep breaths of air that didn't reek of mildew and decay. Even the dwarves, despite their natural inclination to live beneath the earth, seemed ill at ease. Tauriel wondered if the passages had always been so… _eerie_ or if it was another side effect of the shadow which had fallen over the forest.

For their final night below ground, Tauriel led them to the largest chamber she had ever discovered during her childhood explorations. She and Luríena had once spent the night within, terrifying their caretakers with their absence and telling stories of ages past and ancient heroes. The ceiling reached up into blackness and it was wide enough to house plenty of flat, clear ground for their sleeping rolls, with a cheerful underground spring cutting across one end.

Bombur eyed the water skeptically. "And you're sure it's safe to drink?"

Tauriel rolled her eyes and knelt to fill her waterskin, drinking nearly half of it before filling it again. The dwarves warily followed suit, comically distrustful. Cupping the cool water between her hands she splashed her face and, using a bit of cloth, cleaned her cheeks, hands, and neck. Clearing the muck and grime away felt so good she nearly groaned aloud, biting down on her lip and closing her eyes as she swept away layers of dirt. Glancing up a moment later, she caught Kíli watching her, expression hot and dark as he squatted with a forgotten waterskin in hand. Flushing, she ducked her head and swept up a trickle of water that had begun to slip down her chest. She could almost _feel_ the way his eyes followed the path of her hand as it dipped slightly beneath the laces of her tunic and heat pooled low and persistent in her belly.

"Get a fire started Gloin!" Bofur bellowed and Tauriel jumped, the moment ruined. Kíli gave her one last long, heated stare before rising to his feet to help prepare dinner, leaving Tauriel behind to feel strangely anxious and shivery.

Wiping her mouth on her shirt sleeve, she caught sight of Orí across the cavern, holding a torch close to the wall as he studied some of the strange runes, muttering to himself. She approached him curiously.

"Discover anything?" she teased lightly. The dwarf jumped and then laughed nervously as he bent to retrieve his dropped charcoal. He'd been attempting to hold the torch and sketch simultaneously, doing neither task very well.

Tauriel took the torch from him. "Here let me."

Orí flushed and ducked his head back down into his notes as she held the flames near the wall, peering at the markings in turn. As a child she'd traced her fingers over the runes, wondering at their meaning and the people who had carved them, what their purpose might have been, but it had been many long years since she'd given them much thought. They were curious little things, and not merely for their unfamiliarity. They held a slippery, strange quality that made the runes almost appears to slide and glide against the light, like ripples on water.

"They're similar to Khuzdûl, I can make out a few of the meanings," he said, not looking at her as he continued to feverishly draw each collection of lines. "But there is also a notable similarity to an ancient form of elvish, though, to be honest, the two are rather more similar than many dwarves would like to admit."

Tauriel considered this bit of information, marveling slightly at his knowledge and confidence. Clearly Orí was most at home with books and learning, which seemed a strange pastime for a dwarf in her, admittedly limited, experience. "So, do you believe these tunnels may have been made by your people then?"

Orí lifted his head, frowning in thought. "I'm not sure, they are certainly unlike anything I've ever seen, but, well, see this rune here?" he pressed one grubby finger to a mark. "This is very similar to our rune for 'protection,' and this one here," he shifted his hand across the cool stone to another assortment of lines, "this one is similar to an old elvish rune for 'speed.'"

Tauriel blinked at him in surprised. "How do you know all this?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "My mother is a noted scholar and, while Norí and Dorí were off fighting and generally getting into trouble, I stayed behind to learn my letters and read books. There are a number of old tomes our people managed to take with them from Khazad-dûm and Erebor. I can write and read several forms of elvish… though I'm afraid I can't speak them."

"That's rather impressive Master Orí. What brought you along with Thorin and his company if you prefer to be among books?"

Orí's eyes shone suddenly, impassioned. "It is one thing to read of great adventures, my lady, it is another to actually be a _part_ of them. I wanted to see the world, to witness the reclamation of our kingdom-" he cut off, embarrassed, "I'm sorry, I'm rambling on."

She smiled at him. "No, not at all. I can understand such motivations. The desire to see more, to be more."

He returned her smile with a bright one of his own before asking, "How far do these tunnels go?"

"Deep, further than I have ever traveled, but there is a door somewhere, a door with thousands of these runes carved into either side. I've heard tale that sometimes they glow and shift," she said and watched as Orí's eyes widened almost comically.

"I would very much love to see that," the dwarf breathed eagerly.

A wave of affection welled up within her, unbidden and unexpected. "Perhaps we could go to see it together some day," she found herself saying and was surprised that she meant it.

Orí flushed with happiness and, feeling strangely self-conscious, she looked down at the notebook in his hands.

"That is a very lovely drawing," she exclaimed, moving so she could look down over his shoulder. On one side of his notes he'd drawn a particularly strange mushroom they'd run across the day prior in perfect detail.

"O-oh," Orí stuttered, "It's nothing, just something I like to do to pass the time."

"Do you have others?" she asked with sincere interest. He cleared his throat, cheeks red, and obliged her by flipping slowly through several pages.

There was Dwalin leaning over the fire to examine a rabbit on a spit, his signature scowl plastered on his face with an axe slung across his back. Then a quick sketch of Gloín snoozing against a boulder, his fingers threaded over his belly with a butterfly about to land on his nose. A few pages more and Bombur seemed to spring out from the parchment, his mouth open to take a massive bite of stew. On the page next to the portly dwarf was Young Thorin, his hand cupped under his chin as he tried to hide a smile while he poked at a fire. Orí flipped one page more and Kíli was depicted beside the camp fire, arms braced on his knees as he smiled softly at something to one side. Tauriel's heart tripped in her chest; she knew that smile, it was the smile he saved just for her. Another flip of the page and she realized that their relationship was perhaps more obvious than they might have considered. Orí had caught her looking over her shoulder, a sad, longing sort of expression on her face, and it was a visceral testament of how she'd so often felt after meeting a reckless dwarven prince.

It was like a cold water had been poured down her back. She'd been so caught up in Kíli, in how he made her feel, she hadn't properly considered the ramifications of their actions. Or maybe it was more that she'd been attempting to hide from them and suddenly found she no longer could with the truth before her, sketched into life by a precise hand. She looked fearfully at Orí's face, wondering how much he understood, how much he guessed, but he seemed completely unaffected as he flicked to another page.

"And here is the corridor below the throne room. I just liked the way the light from above hit the fallen stones there," he said, a soft smile on his face.

Tauriel took a deep breath and, seeking for some way to change the subject, she asked, "What do those runes there mean?"

Orí glanced to where she'd pointed on the page, the runes in question written carefully beneath the drawing he'd done in Erebor. The dwarf looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, they say the year, day and location but… well, we're not really meant to share such knowledge with those who are not of our people." He sounded terribly sorry about it, his eyes full of guilt, but it was just another twist of the slow turning dagger in her heart. Another reminder of how far apart she and Kíli truly were.

"I would tell you anyway but," he whispered, glancing toward the fire where the others were preparing dinner and talking quietly amongst themselves. "Dwalin can be a little temperamental about such things."

Tauriel swallowed against the lump forming in her throat and forced a smile. "And here I thought Master Dwalin was temperamental about all things."

They shared a conspiratorial laugh before turning to join the others. She willed her face into a mask of calm indifference even as her mind fell into tatters. Settling into a seat about the fire, a hearty stew bubbling happily over a cheery fire, Kíli tried to catch her eye but she avoided it, a sick feeling of dread crawling its way up her stomach. It had been easy, far too easy, to forget the gravity of their situation.

Apparently she could not stop herself from loving him, from wanting him, but she could control her behavior. She had to. Their relationship could cost him his already tenuous hold on his throne, and she would not be the lever someone used to unseat him. They needed to be more careful.

Kíli passed her a bowl of stew and she took it from him quickly, retreating to the far side of the fire as the dwarves laughed over a tale that had something to do with Bofur and a goat. She wasn't really listening, the words washing over her unnoticed, lost in her own thoughts as she pushed the food around in her bowl. She needed to pull herself together, to clear her head, to gain control of herself.

Kíli's laughter was a bright ring that echoed through the cavern and she looked up despite herself. He had not laughed often since the day his Uncle and brother had died, and the sound clenched vice-like around her heart. Dwalin laughed in turn, a deep sound that came from his belly as Kíli nudged him playfully, sharing some private joke. He turned a moment later, caught her eye, and sobered instantly. There was anxiety and worry simmering beneath the surface, as though he were reading her thoughts.

Tauriel looked down and did not look up again until the others had finished their meals and readied for sleep. Young Thorin gave her a strangely smug smile, as though her feelings of alienation were somehow his doing. Or maybe he only enjoyed seeing her unhappy. Either way she made a rude gesture behind his back that sent Bofur into a coughing fit and forced a smile on her lips despite herself. She had a sneaking suspicion that the dwarves were rubbing off on her.

* * *

 **S** he sat close to the fire that night in a calculated effort to deter Kíli from attempting to catch her alone, which he'd done every night since they'd gone below ground. He'd puttered around longer than the others before finally settling into his bedroll petulantly, wishing her a gruff good night, and then turned onto his side, facing away from her. For hours she stared into the flames, unmoving, her mind carefully blank, until she was certain that he was asleep, then she gathered her bow and left the cavern. She paced just down the passageway to another small cave nearby. It was smaller and almost perfectly round. High above another small opening allowed for brief wafts of fresh air, and it was just wide enough that she could see a handful of stars. She just needed a moment alone, a moment to clear her head.

Scrubbing a hand over her face in exasperation, she found she missed Legolas with a sudden and fierce longing. He had been her closest friend, her confidant, the person she had gone to when in need of advice or wisdom. And if ever she had needed his wisdom, she needed it now. He would tell her the truth, no matter how much she did not wish to hear it.

She didn't hear his approach until his boots scuffed across the floor. With a whirl she fell into a defensive crouch, her dagger leveled out in front of her. Kíli held his empty hands before him in a gesture of supplication, a smirk of amusement tugging at one corner of his mouth. Tauriel huffed in exasperation as she rose and sheathed her dagger. Her pulse quickened traitorously at the sight of him and she frowned deeply in response.

"Don't you ever sleep?" she asked brusquely, embarrassed that he had managed to take her unawares _again_. It was becoming a rather unfortunate habit and she hated the idea that she was somehow losing her edge. It was entirely his fault, of that much she was sure.

He raised a brow at her, his hair mussed about his face in a manner that was extraordinarily alluring and oddly enduring. She wanted to run her fingers through it. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and tucked her hands resolutely against her sides.

"An interesting question coming from someone who _never_ sleeps," he shot back, strolling toward her casually, as though their meeting was somehow coincidental and not some obvious scheme of his creation. He was either an exceptionally light sleeper or an excellent play actor. She suspected the latter.

"I don't need sleep," she countered, subconsciously moving away from him. His eyes had taken on a strange and predatory quality that was starting to make something in her belly feel like molten honey. "You do, however."

"You've been avoiding me all day," he said, changing the subject entirely and continuing his maddening advance. He'd shed his mail and tunic for bed, wearing nothing but his trousers and loose fitted shirt, the laces slackened at the neck so that she caught appealing glimpsed of the tanned, hardened skin beneath.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered unconvincingly even to her own ears, trying desperately to retake control of her emotions even as he all but back her into a corner. Shivers of anticipation washed over her in pulsing waves and the heat in her belly became a growing need she only barely understood.

Kíli raised a challenging brow at her. "You wouldn't even look at me over dinner and I could practically _taste_ what you were thinking."

Tauriel glared at him, her sudden flash of irritation momentarily grounding her and allowing her to push past him and into the open air. "Oh? And what was I thinking? Oh wise imperious King," she taunted, frustration and hurt turning into biting sarcasm. But truly it was nothing more than a final, desperate gamble to push him away.

There was a stretch of silence and then a deep sigh. "You were thinking that what's happened- what's _happening_ between us, is a mistake. That there is no future for us and there never can be," he said the words slowly, carefully, and each one tore at her heart.

She closed her eyes and willed the pain away before speaking. "We both know that such things are true Kíli. That what lies between us can never be more than secret meetings in the dark, never meant to see the light of day-"

Kíli took her by the arm, forcing her to turn and look him in the eye. "Tauriel I will have no other but you, this is no mere dalliance or distraction. My feelings are not idle nor will they be lightly cast aside."

"If anyone were to find out about us Kíli, you could lose everything. Your home, your family, your throne-"

"I don't care about the damned throne," he growled viciously, his jaw tightening perceptively in the darkness.

She shook her head and turned toward him fully, taking his shoulders lightly in hand. "You've said that many times and I don't believe you. I've seen you Kíli, I've seen how much your people and kingdom mean to you. You will be a good King, but not if we are discovered. Your people will never accept us-"

Kíli reached up and cupped her face in his hands, his touch firm but gentle as his eyes searched hers. The depth of his affection for her was reflected in his eyes, honest and pure, cutting through her like shards of glass. "I will change all that Tauriel, we both will. Already the men begin to trust you, to like you, you'll win over their hearts as easily as you have mine."

She shrugged out his grasp, wanting desperately to believe him, to slip into the easy warmth of his adoration, but she knew better. The distrust between their people ran too deep and the dwarves held their secrets too closely. She pressed a fist to her mouth, squeezing her eyes closed for a brief moment.

"Tauriel I am not saying that it will be easy, or that it will not take time. But I believe, -no, I _know_ that whatever happens… it will be worth it. Worth us."

"Kíli-" she began to protest, her conviction swaying.

He pulled her to him, grasping her hips so that she felt the burn of his fingers beneath her tunic, and her heart fluttered madly in her breast. "Tell me you do not love me. That you do not want me, and I will end this. I swear I will end this. But… if you feel for me as I feel for you, you have to know that I will not give up. I will never give up."

He was insane, completely unbalanced to think their love, their happiness, was worth the price of his kingdom. But then… so was she.

Feeling like she was no longer in control of herself, she reached out and gave in to her earlier temptation, letting her fingers sweep through his hair. It was soft and slightly tangled, but the feel of it sliding against her skin was nothing short of wonderful. There were a few braids hidden strategically within the mass and she wanted to ask about them, to understand their meaning and purpose. She wanted to understand him and his people and the world he'd grown up in. But mostly she just wanted _him,_ every part of him, every facet and version.

Kíli's breath caught under her ministrations and his eyes fluttered closed briefly before opening once more, lidded and heavy. The heat from earlier that evening was back within the depths of his gaze and it weakened her knees.

"I want this Kíli," she murmured, "I want you. But I fear we will live to regret it."

He smiled, though it wavered with emotion and desire. "Regret you? Never."

The hands on her hips urged her backward until she met cool stone, her breathing already rapid as she blinked down at him. His face was tilted toward hers and she could taste each exhale as his fingers slid up her waist slowly, purposefully, and she bit down on her lip to suppress a whimper.

Her fingers shifted through his hair and down, down, until they trailed across his beard, feeling the bristles against her fingernails and enjoying the coarse contrast. Licking her lips she watched the steady progress of her hands as they progressed further along his throat and brushed against the hard line of his collar bones. The heat of his skin seemed to burn through her, scorching into her veins. He swallowed heavily, throat bobbing, and then leaned forward to place a hot, opened mouth kiss just below her jaw. Tauriel sighed softly in pleasure as the world grew hazy and slow, her head falling back to allow him better access. His lips trailed along her jawline and down, finding her pulse point and nipping her softly with his teeth. This time there was no helping the whimper that escaped from between her lips. His answering growl vibrated through her so that her hands slipped beneath his shirt and clenched against the bare skin of his back.

The warmth in her belly had condensed and shifted, creating a building pressure that demanded release. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. She wanted to be close to him, skin to skin, but felt as though she could never be close enough; even as he pressed tightly against her, overwhelming her with his heat and smell and touch. Beneath his skin she felt muscle and strength ripple and, feeling bold, she drew her nails up his spine and across his shoulders to the top of his chest. He groaned aloud, the noise echoing quietly through the small chamber and his hand fisted in her hair, dragging her mouth to his for a bruising kiss. There was nothing slow or delicate about the way his mouth slanted beneath hers, nothing uncertain about the way his free hand dug into her hip and over her thigh, kneading gently but insistently.

Their lips parted briefly and they were both breathless, pressed tightly against one another with the cave wall hard and cold against her back. She tried to recover some sense of herself, some form of control, but Kíli began to once again kiss a path down her neck, tongue flicking out to taste the hollow of her throat and back up again. She felt feverish and anxious, a damp warmth spreading from between her thighs that both frightened and excited her. Kíli reached for the laces of her tunic, his eyes black and smoldering in the darkness, when suddenly the earth shook violently around them.

They froze against one another, reality crashing over her and leaving her trembling. Neither of them so much as breathed. A moment later the ground quaked again, nearly pitching them both to the floor, and was followed by an inhuman cry of fury.

"Cave troll," Tauriel whispered in disbelief and their eyes met for a moment before they both took off down the passageway, her bow already in hand.

* * *

" **H** urry!" Dwalin bellowed as their company sprinted down the tunnel, fighting to secure their packs and simultaneously free their weapons. Kíli struggled to pull his mail shirt down over his chest and Tauriel reached out to quickly yank it down and handed him his bow. He gave her a brief smile and slung his quiver across his back.

Another rumbling crash and the ceiling above began to crumble. A knot of terrible fear cinched within her as she briefly considered the prospect of being buried alive. The idea made her skin crawl and her stomach turn.

"How far till the exit?" Bofur cried a moment before the creature roared again, this time louder and closer. It had caught their scent.

Cool calculation took control, years of training and exercise taking over where reason had fled.

"Not far, run straight and veer left at the fork!" she yelled and raced forward even as the ground threatened to be torn out from under her.

The dwarves followed after, the world crumbling around them as they were forced to dodge collapsing portions of the tunnel. Tauriel coughed as dust and falling rock blurred her vision. Swiping at her watering eyes, she could see the fork just head and, beyond, their salvation. Glancing over her shoulder she watched as Orí stumbled and fell a moment before the tunnel wall behind him exploded inward in a shower of stone and mud.

"Orí!" she screamed even as Gloín rushed back to help him, yanking him to his feet.

A thundering roar tore at their ears as the hideous creature stepped through the crude opening it had created. It was huge, too huge to fit within the confines of the tunnel, and it swung its massive fists to clear enough space for its body to crouch through. She and Kíli exchanged a horrified glance.

"Go, hurry! I will hold it off!" she cried, waving her hand down the passageway.

He shook his head violently. "No! We all go together," he bellowed and made a grab for her as Dwalin wrapped a thick arm about his shoulders, forcing him bodily down the hall. Tauriel danced out of Kíli's reach and she knelt with an arrow already nocked. The dwarves rushed past her in a panic, but for Tauriel the world had slowed. She could distantly hear Kíli shouting her name as the troll turned its murderous sights upon her, but there was only her breath and her weapon as she drew the string back to eye level. The creature barreled toward her, collapsing the tunnel behind it and she took one last breath before firing, lodging an arrow in one bulbous eye.

The creature screamed in pain and fury as Tauriel leapt to her feet, narrowly avoiding being crushed by falling debris. She sprinted blindly down the hall, her heart a deafening drum in her ears. Something slammed into her shoulder, pitching her sideways and knocking the wind from her. She managed to gather her feet and powered on even as pain shot through her, drawing strength from her legs. Choking and gasping, she found the fork in the tunnel and stumbled down it, catching the faint scent of fresh air. Relief washed through her—she was nearly there. Suddenly the ground gave way beneath her and she crashed to the floor. Turning on her side, head reeling, she watched as the troll, black blood gushing sluggishly from its wounded eye, bore down on her. Her bow was out of reach and she fumbled for her daggers, fear lancing through her.

An arrow, black tipped and thick, struck the beast in its chest, followed by another in its undamaged eye and yet another in its throat. The creature roared and crashed first to its knees and then to its face with a final, terrible boom. The tunnel began to collapse in earnest and Tauriel felt hope fade as an ultimate darkness crept closer. A moment later strong hands grasped at her, pulling her into broad arms. Dazed, she looked up at Kíli in mild surprise, his jaw clenched in fury and terror. Holding her tightly against his chest, he took off down the collapsing tunnel, the light of day a taunting beacon ahead.

"We're… not going to… make it," she croaked, pain stabbing through her shoulder and making her stomach roll.

"Yes we damn well are," Kíli growled and somehow managed to move even faster as rocks tumbled around them, catching at their skin and clothing like scrapping claws. He bled from a cut near his temple and another by his lip and he flinched as a sharp bit of stone caught him across the back. But he never faltered.

Tauriel was beginning to feel light headed and her shoulder, pressed against Kíli's chest, was slick and warm with what she knew to be blood. A moment before the passage crumbled atop them, Kíli let out a bellowing cry and pitched them forward into the early morning sunlight. Tauriel was thrown from his arms as they rolled across the forest floor, the world spinning madly around her until she came to halt, groaning in the dirt and mulch. There was a final, terrible rumble, and the tunnel entrance collapsed, taking the Cave Troll with it.

* * *

 **O** rí's face was the first to swim into view as she rolled weakly on to her back, dust settling like fine smoke as the sun crested over the distant mountains. A few flakes of snow drifted lazily from a patchy gray sky, leaving cold kisses across her heated skin. The young dwarf leaned over her, round cheeks pale and filthy, his eyes wide with fear and shock.

"She's losing a lot of blood," he told Gloín as he too knelt at her side, looking as though he'd aged a hundred years from the white powder and dirt in his hair and beard.

Tauriel swallowed and turned her head to glance down at her left arm. A deep slice cut through leather, cloth, and skin from the top of her shoulder to just past her elbow and patches of the yellow-white bone shone through in places. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away, dizziness threatening to overcome her completely.

Kíli was at her side in the next moment, taking her uninjured hand in his. Blood was dripping from the wound at his temple but it did not appear to be deep, dirt and grime matted into his hair and across his face. His face went white as he leaned over to examine her wound, and his eyes, when they returned to hers, were round and fearful. Tauriel did not think the injury was life threatening if the bleeding could be stemmed and the area cleaned. She hoped.

"Bombur!" he cried and the large dwarf fumbled forward with Dwalin, Bofur and Young Thorin behind him, each of them looking just as awful as the next. Bombur took in her wounded arm and swallowed heavily, throwing his bag off his shoulder and rifling through it hurriedly.

"Athelas," she croaked, "to ward off infection."

Orí nodded and dashed off with Bofur at his heels –the latter intimately familiar with the common weed after the events in Laketown. Kíli tucked his cloak beneath her head and pressed a waterskin gently to her lips and she drained it after several deep swallows. She tried to give him a comforting smile when she was done but she could feel it wavering on her lips. The left side of her body was starting to feel numb and cold, faintness dancing dangerously at the edges of her consciousness.

"We'll have to clean and stitch it," Bombur muttered to Kíli as he came to her side with a (fairly) clean tunic that he pressed against the worst of the slice to staunch the bleeding. She gritted her teeth and breathed out through her nose.

"It may not be safe here," she told Kíli softly. They were in a small glade in the northwest half of the forest, she knew. A mere day or two from the edge of the trees, but the area was not always a safe one. Few places outside their central city were ever truly safe.

"We have to stop the bleeding, you've lost too much already," Kíli insisted, his eyes indicating that no amount of argument from her would change his mind.

"I'll scout the area," Young Thorin said, taking an axe in hand and sweeping off without a backward glance. But his eyes had lingered curiously on her face a moment before he'd spoken, as though he'd only just seen her for the first time and wasn't at all sure what to think.

Dwalin gasped suddenly and gripped Kíli by the shoulders. "You're wounded!" the bald dwarf cried in horror.

Kíli looked down at his gore coated mail and tunic and swallowed, glancing toward Tauriel. "It's her blood, not mine."

Dwalin's jaw tightened as he released Kíli and turned toward her, a slight crease between his brows. "I ah, that was a brave thing you did back there lass," he said awkwardly, not quite able to meet her eye.

"It was nothing," she said with a pained smile as Gloín got a fire started under Bombur's order. Dwalin grunted, his cheeks coloring blotchily before moving away, muttering something about gathering their supplies.

Kíli gently swept the hair from her face as Bombur checked beneath the bloody cloth, grunting in approval as he pressed it back in place. Apparently the blood flow was slowing and she felt a wave of relief. Kíli's face was slightly pinched and though he tried to mask it, she could tell he was deeply unsettled, his hand shaking slightly in hers.

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do something like that again," he remarked dryly.

She chuckled softy. "Which part? The bit where a troll almost crushed me or the part where the tunnel nearly did."

"The part where you stayed behind and risked your life needlessly," he said with sudden seriousness, worry and anger flashing in his eyes.

Tauriel sobered and squeezed his hand in hers. "It wasn't needless, Kíli. We needed time to escape and I provided it."

Kíli grimaced. "You nearly died, if I hadn't turned back-"

"Well," she reasoned, attempting a slightly teasing smile, "it was about time you returned the favor."

Kíli snorted and some of the bluster went out of him, though his shoulders remained tense and his eyes worried. "I'd prefer neither of us needed anymore rescuing."

Tauriel resisted the sudden and pressing desire to kiss him, or at least to cup his cheek in reassurance, and settled for brushing her thumb over the back of his hand, a gesture which he returned. A flash of their earlier encounter, before the troll had nearly brought the world down atop them, burned through her before she could shove it determinedly aside. She could still feel his lips against her skin and her fingers clawing up his back and she swallowed, ducking her head to hide the flush she could feel spreading up her chest and across her cheeks.

 _Now is not the time for idle reminisces_ , she chastised herself, mortified that her mind was so easily led astray in spite of her painful circumstances. They had almost _died_. But still the sensations remained, enhanced by his presence and the lingering traces of fear and adrenaline. She had a powerful urge to continue whatever they had started in the darkness, to confirm for herself that they were both still vitally alive beneath sun and sky.

Orí and Bofur returned a moment later, huffing and puffing but with the white flowered herb in hand. Bombur removed the tunic against her arm and Gloín came to his side with a large bowl of steaming water.

"Mix the herb with some of the water and crush it. After you've c-clean out the wound," she stuttered, aware that the cleaning process was going to be deeply uncomfortable, "place it within and let it sit for a bit before removing it and stitching."

Bombur nodded and he and Orí ripped another tunic into strips, dipping them into the boiling hot water. The big dwarf reached for her arm and gave her an apologetic look. "This is going to hurt."

Kíli settled in besides her, letting her lean against him as he shifted her gently into a sitting position. She turned her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of metal, leather, sweat, blood and an undercurrent that was uniquely him, spicy and earthy. He should not hold her so close, she knew, but pain and blood loss clouded her judgment, and surely his presence could be explained as mere concern for her safety and certainly not particular to just her. Even in her addled mind she knew it was a foolish hope, but she'd recently made a habit of clinging to foolish hopes.

"If I can stand Dwalin's cooking three nights in a row, I can stand this," she said and Bofur roared with laughter while Orí snorted appreciatively. Kíli's chest rumbled with faint amusement and the hand concealed behind her rubbed soothing patterns against her lower back. The mood noticeably lightened, Bombur got to work.

* * *

 **S** everal hours later, after her wound had been cleaned, stitched, wrapped and secured across her chest, they gathered their packs and gear and began to head north through the tress. Tauriel felt ragged and sore but they needed to find a safe spot to camp for the night. She knew that there was little chance her people had not noticed the collapse of the tunnel and recognized that they would come to investigate. Their wayward company needed to be far away by the time they arrived as she did not trust her King to allow the dwarves unrestricted passage through their lands. Kíli of course had protested, citing her recent injury and loss of blood, but they had little choice and she'd assured him that elves healed quickly, even more so than dwarves. The Athelas had done much to return some of her strength and Bombur had done well, though she knew the scar would likely be a terrible one. But it was just another of many, another hurt to look back on and remember in the long years to come.

Kíli hovered warily at her side, always ready to offer her a hand if she stumbled or needed help over root or rock, it was terribly endearing if not far too revealing. The forest was better here, less oppressive but no less wild, and more like the Greenwood of old. The company was quiet, weary and battered and uneasy beneath the trees. For her part she mourned the loss of her bow, a gift from Legolas, buried with the Cave Troll beneath the earth. She knew it was a silly thing, to mourn the loss of something so inconsequential when they were lucky to have escaped with their lives, but still her heart ached. Her friendship with the Elven Prince grew further and further away from her, breaking a little at a time as she left her old life behind for the terrible unknown.

The sun was just beginning to set when Tauriel finally noticed they were not alone. Had she not been so weak and tired, she likely would have noticed sooner. As it was, she brought their company to a halt with a low hiss.

"Tauriel," Kíli asked with a frown of concern, reaching for her, "What is-"

"Sh," she said harshly, "Quiet, and drop your weapons, _now_."

Young Thorin grunted, "The elf has clearly lost her mind-"

An arrow thumped inches from the dwarf's head and she groaned aloud. A moment later elves fell from the trees in a bright flash of weapons and armor, surrounding them in seconds. There were eight of them in total, with bows drawn and pointed not at her, but at the dwarves. She recognized all of them and they eyed her with interest and shock, taking in her injury and clearly jumping to conclusions.

"Not this again," Dwalin groaned bitterly as the dwarves raised their hands reluctantly, scowling in fury.

"Well, well," came a familiar voice as the elves shifted aside to let another through, "If it isn't Tauriel, the former Guard Captain." He was short, shorter even than Tauriel, who was considered rather small for their kind, with ebony hair and a pinched face. His utter delight was written plainly across his features and she knew any hope they had of reaching the mountains unhindered had collapsed as surely as the tunnels they'd barely escaped. Kíli shifted angrily beside her and they exchanged a look. He must have read the unease in her eyes because his jaw tightened and she could almost see his calculations for escape racing through his mind behind his gaze. She hoped he came up with something quickly because she had a sense they were not going to slip away easily or without incident.

Tauriel could all but hear her heart thump into her boots. "Lieutenant Welethen, to what do we owe the honor?"

The elf paced to them slowly, casually, as though he were taking a leisurely stroll through the wood. "It's _Captain_ Welethen now," he said and the self-satisfied smirk on his face made her skin crawl.


	11. The Longer She Runs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I'm not going to make excuses for my late update this time. Though I totally have them. Totally. I shall only say I am sorry and that there were extenuating circumstances. That being said, this chapter was a rough one to hammer out so I hope everyone enjoys it.(Meaning you have to enjoy it. YOU HAVE TO.) Quick note for those just joining us, I began this story during DoS and have since picked up bits and pieces from BotFA because, well, I can and it's fun; but basically my story began at the end of DoS and has carried on and morphed into it's own beast.
> 
> I also decided to stick with the movie canon of Aragorn's age because its actually a super fun idea even if it does mess with Tolkien's time line. (I'm sure he's used to turning in his grave by now.) As always the reviews have been inspiring and phenomenal. Seriously, I don't know how else to express how much your words power this story on through my rough weeks and moments. This chapter is dedicated to every single one of you, may the Valar bless your beautiful freaking souls.

_When my blood runs warm with the warm red wine_   
_I miss the life that I left behind_   
_But when I hear the sound of the blackbirds cry_   
_I know I left in the nick of time_

_Well this road I'm on's gonna turn to sand_   
_And leave me lost in a far off land_   
_So let me ride the wind til I don't look back_   
_Forget the life that I almost had_

_If I wander til I die_   
_May I know who's hand I'm in_   
_If my home I'll never find_   
_And let me live again_

_-The Longer I Run, by Peter Bradley Adams_

* * *

**N** ight had fallen beneath the trees by the time they reached the elven camp. Whatever strength Tauriel had regained after her near brush with death, she'd lost in the presence of _Captain_ Welethen. The elf was even more insufferable than she remembered. Which was saying a great deal.

Welethen was the second son of a lesser noble house and she'd spent almost the entirety of her Captaincy trying to have him removed from the Guard, begging the King to see reason, to heed her council. Instead she had been forced to promote him again and _again_ to curry favor in some strange manner she clearly didn't understand. Politics had never been her area of expertise, which made her position as 'Ambassador' all the more ridiculous.

At the time she had considered that maybe Thranduil had seen something in the lazy elf that she hadn't, but now she thought perhaps her King had merely lost all reason and sense. How could he possibly have entrusted the protection of their entire kingdom to someone like Welethen? The man was as slippery as a snake.

"We will have to take the dwarves in for questioning," Welethen had said in Sindarin upon their initial capture, ever smirking, ever smug.

It had taken all of Tauriel's self-control not to slap the disrespectful look from his face. The dwarves had grumbled and growled behind her like a pack of grumpy bears. "I'm afraid we don't have time. We must reach the Gray Mountains as soon as possible," she had replied in the common tongue, refusing to play his game.

If anything, Welethen had looked even more pleased, as though she'd walked right into some sort of trap he'd laid for her. "Our camp is nearby and I'm afraid we cannot simply allow a pack of _dwarves_ to go wandering about in the forest."

"They are under _my_ protection," she'd insisted, reverting to Sindarin in her frustration, voice tight and barely controlled. She knew Kíli, at least, would understand.

"Either they come willingly," Welethen had said with poorly concealed pleasure, "or they come bound and gagged. It's up to you _Tauriel_."

" _Ambassador_ Tauriel," one of the scouts had corrected scowling and looking thoroughly displeased. Welethen had laughed long and loud, the noise carrying through the trees and grating on her already frayed nerves.

"Ah yes," he'd said at last, a hint of cruelty pulling at the corner of his mouth. " _Ambassador_. How could I forget? But the fact remains, either they come willingly or I'll have my scouts drag them kicking and screaming through the forest."

After several minutes of intense arguing she'd eventually managed to convince the dwarves to hand over their weapons and follow the elven party through the wood. Kíli, though he'd looked furious, had supported her propagations, his stern command to cooperate quelling some of the more mutinous looks. Young Thorin had looked at her as though she were every terrible thing he'd ever believed her to be and whatever ground she may have gained in her dealings with him seemed to have been lost.

As the dwarves had handed over their weapons, cursing and scowling, Tauriel had shared a looked with Kíli, her eyes full of warning and meaning that she'd hoped he would understand. They could not reveal his true identity. Tauriel did not want to believe her King would take advantage of Kíli, but recent events had made her wary wherever Thranduil was concerned. Kíli's imperceptible nod as he'd given one of the scouts his bow alleviated some of her fears, muttering something to his kinsmen in his own language until they'd all nodded in understanding.

Now, at the lip of the low valley with the camp settled just below, Tauriel wavered dizzily. She was tired. So very, very tired. One of the scouts gripped her gently by her uninjured arm, steadying her.

"Are you alright, my lady?" the scout asked at a whisper in Sindarin, eyes concerned. Siluthen was his name she thought, a quiet but dedicated elf.

She gave him a wan smile, drawing on what little strength she had left. "I will be alright. We ran into a Cave Troll within the Deep Roads."

The scout gasped aloud. "A Cave Troll," he said more loudly than he may have intended, drawing the attention of those around them, "but they have never traveled so far from the mountains."

Tauriel grimaced. "The darkness upon our forest attracts many foul things."

"Hurry along!" Welethen commanded from ahead, a strange look in his eyes as the scouts muttered between themselves. Tauriel gathered that something had happened in her absence, something important, something that had made the Guard uneasy.

As they started down the slope, Kíli came to her side, bracing her firmly by the elbow as she wavered, concern and anger molten in his eyes.

"I am alright," she told him softly and he gave a sharp shake of his head, letting out a frustrated puff of air, his fingers tightening almost painfully along her arm before loosening.

"No you're not," he growled, "you're nearly dead on your feet and I do not trust this supposed Captain."

She drew in a ragged breath. "Nor do I, but we must wait for the right moment. Something else is at work here, something beneath the surface."

Their conversation was effectively drawn to a close as they entered the small but well-established camp, comprised of several large tents erected around a substantial fire at its center. Suspicion clawed at the back of her mind. They had obviously been camped for several days and not in an area her people typically used for such purposes. Was it possible they had been waiting for her? Or was there something more nefarious at stake, something she continued to miss?

"Captain!" someone cried from out of the shadows and a familiar figure came toward her, ignoring a scandalized look from Welethen completely. It was Belúne, another of her Lieutenants, and some of the tension went out of her. Here was an elf she trusted, another of her inner circle among the Guard who had always thought as little of Welethen as she had.

"You have been injured!" he exclaimed and ushered her to a seat by the fire, leaving Welethen to protest feebly in their wake. The dwarves followed after, scowling at the confused elves in case they even considered trying to stop them.

Tauriel took a seat gratefully, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. Another elf brought her a water skin and yet another some hearty broth, each of them concerned and disturbed. She sipped at both, feeling measurably better, Kíli remaining close by her side, glaring at the elves raised eyebrows and hostile glances. He was like a short, angry storm cloud.

"Have we truly forgotten our hospitality so severely," she said to Belúne in the common tongue, "that our guests are not offered food and drink as well?"

The elf looked uneasy. "Ah, yes, but they are dwarves-"

"And also my friends. They are under my protection, or has that come to mean so little?" Her rebuke was gentle but firm and she saw the surprise in the other elf's eyes but it was quickly replaced by respect and a healthy amount of shame.

Belúne nodded his head to another of the guard and the dwarves were offered food and drink a moment later. Kíli was the first to accept a proffered plate and wooden goblet, giving the others a stern look as they reluctantly accepted theirs in turn. They had only a brief moment to enjoy their respite before Welethen appeared, scowling deeply.

"I will speak with you in my tent, my lady _Ambassador_."

Tauriel sighed and grimaced, wishing desperately that she were more mentally aware. The pain in her arm had been growing more and more persistent as the night wore on, sapping at what little energy she had left.

Belúne helped her to rise to her feet, clearly displeased by Welethen's treatment of her. Kíli stepped immediately to her side, looking murderous. "I go wherever she goes," he said fiercely, dark eyes glinting dangerously. Dwalin made to dissuade him with a quick, harsh word, but Kíli shrugged him off with a profound glare.

Welethen surprised her by looking pleased. "Certainly, bring your _little_ friend Tauriel. The more the merrier."

Feeling decidedly uneasy, she followed the elf and his compatriots through the maze of tents till they reached the largest of them at the epicenter of camp. It was audaciously big and she crinkled her nose in disapproval. One of the most important things as Captain of the Guard was to remind those who followed you that, though you wielded control, you were ultimately one of them. But Welethen had never troubled himself overly much with making friends.

The tent was even more ridiculous within, furnished with lush furs, fine furnishing and several partitions. As Welethen rounded on them, he looked decidedly smug, his raised brow as she surveyed his accommodations clearly mocking. He had always complained, _loudly_ , that camping with her on patrols was close to utter barbarism. One of many reasons she'd tended to station him as far away from herself and into the forest as possible.

"You may leave us, Lieutenant," Welethen said coolly. The other elf scowled and looked close to arguing until she placed a soft hand of reassurance on his arm. Belúne gave her a searching look, clearly communicating that he would be nearby should she need him, before bowing slightly and departing. Kíli stood a little behind her, feet braced apart and hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as though he were expecting a fight. He looked terrible, with the blood from his head wound dried and encrusted on his face, and she imagined that though Welethen had mocked him for his size, the way his eyes slid quickly away from the young dwarf indicated no small amount of anxiety.

"I suppose you thought you were very clever, traveling through the Deep Roads," Welethen began in Sindarin, his tone light as he paced away from them. Two elves, whose names she did not recall, blocked the tent's only visible exit and she had a deeply apprehensive feeling in her gut.

"I merely wished to lead the dwarves on safe paths," she said tonelessly.

"I wonder why you thought to lead the dwarves through our lands at all without the King's permission," he shot back, toying with something on his writing desk.

"I informed the nearest guard post of our intentions," she insisted, wondering at his game.

"But then you proceeded without waiting for permission to be granted, isn't that right?"

Tauriel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I assumed the King would be cooperative with me-"

"You assume much!" Welethen hissed and his face as he turned was contorted with hatred, the force of it, pure and unadulterated, took her breath away. She had never seen so much malice in the face of one of her people.

One of the elves at the tent flap grabbed her suddenly and forced her to her knees with a hard jerk, hand pressed painfully against her lips, likely to prevent her from biting. Kíli made a muffled, strangled noise from behind her and she was able to meet his wildly furious eyes as another elf subdued him with a knife to his throat for only a moment before her captor jerked her head forward. Her uninjured arm was trapped behind her back and she could feel the stitches in her other arm pulling and ripping in protest.

Welethen stalked toward her, transformed in his hatred so that his features seemed dark and distorted in the flickering torch light.

"If you make so much as a whimper of distress I will slice his throat. Do you understand?" he snarled, bending so that his nose nearly brushed hers and she felt the disgusting rain of his hot spittle on her cheeks.

Fury coiled within her, lending her weakened limbs some strength as she nodded slightly. She would kill him for this. She would kill him if he presumed to harm so much as a hair on Kíli's head.

Welethen gave the elf holding her a nod of his own and the hand across her mouth eased and then disappeared, her lips bruised and stinging where they had dug into her teeth. She took a brief inventory. Her captor had a sword and dagger at his belt as well as one in his left boot. He was taller and stronger, but she was faster and smarter, of that she was sure. All she needed was an opening.

"What were you and the dwarves doing in the Deep Roads," he demanded, eyes glinting with a strange fervor.

"Traveling to the edge of the forest, as I told you-"

The blow came out of nowhere, jarring her senses. Frankly she had not thought him capable. Her mind reeled as pain blossomed along her jaw and she tasted blood in her mouth, warm and metallic. Through the ringing in her ears she could hear Kíli's muffled cries of protest.

"I will not ask you again. What were you and the dwarves looking for in the Deep Roads?" Welethen hissed, yanking her face toward his by her chin.

She grinned at him. "We were looking only to avoid your company, _Captain_."

Welethen snarled and reached suddenly for her injured arm, fingers digging in vice like. She cried out in pure agony a moment before his hand closed over her mouth. Waves of red hot pain coursed through her and her vision bled from bright, terrible red, toward hazy black.

"You will tell me what you and the dwarves were doing in those tunnels, Tauriel, if I have to pull the information from you a little at a time. I can't deny that I am looking forward to the process," his voice was close to her ear, vile and slippery as his other hand knotted in her hair viciously. His fingers dug into her arm all the harder and she teetered on the edge of true unconsciousness for a long moment before he released her at last.

She sagged in her captor's grip, blinking desperately and fighting to stay conscious. "Lock them up and keep them silent. If the others discover her we'll have a mutiny on our hands and it's been a terribly trying day already."

Time seemed strangely distorted as her hands were bound and a gag secured, knotting into her hair. She was lifted into careless arms, her wound pulsing like a hot, terrible sun as darkness continued to creep in at the edges of her vision. Flashes of images -her captor's hard, uncaring face, Welethen's sneer, Kíli's pale countenance, eyes wide with fear, anger, and terrible worry.

They were taken to a small cave just outside the camp and it was little more than a shallow crevice in the face of the valley hills. Several iron barred cages had been set up within. Someone had betrayed their passage, she realized dimly as she was thrown haphazardly into one of the cages. She felt little even as she landed and rolled to her side. Her entire body felt tingly and somehow detached from reality. Her captor bound her legs as Kíli was deposited nearby, his eyes fastened desperately on hers even as he was restrained in turn.

Things were dim after that, as though she were seeing them in the snatches of a fading dream. The other dwarves joined them eventually, roped and gaged in turn, furious and struggling. Kíli was at her side from the moment they were left alone, awkwardly propping her up against his chest as best he could and his eyes were teary and terrified. She longed to comfort him but found she was too weak to even conjure a smile or nod. Besides, she did not think he would believe her lie this time.

The last thing she recalled was Bombur's face as he rolled toward her to examine her wound as best he could with bound hands. If the blood fading from his cheeks were any indication, her situation was not good.

* * *

 **T** auriel was weightless, surrounded by warm blankets of gray. She had little sense of self or purpose but something tugged at her, pulling her toward something just out of reach. How long she floated there, listless and unaware, she couldn't be sure; time held no meaning or sway. But eventually a voice, strong and sure, drew her back to herself a little at a time.

Light burst through the shadow and with it came pain, hot and strong and real. She groaned weakly as a voice, a song really, crested over her in strengthening waves. Blinking into existence she was stunned to find a fair and familiar face crouched over her.

"Legolas?" she croaked, sure she was still dreaming.

He smiled softly and swept the hair from her sweaty brow. She was in what appeared to be a tent on a soft, comfortable cot, surrounded by warm blankets. Her arm, though sore, seemed greatly improved and she flexed her fingers tentatively. Kíli's anxious face hovered into view, cleaned with a small bandage at his temple, and relief broke out across his features as their eyes met. She offered him a tentative smile, her cheeks heating and much passed between them before she broke free of his stare, aware they were not alone and wishing that they might have been for a few, small moments.

"W-what happened?" she asked and Legolas held a cup to her lips. She drank the water greedily and he refilled it twice before she collapsed back against the pillows, feeling reasonably more like herself.

"We arrived the day after you were captured. Lieutenant Curial believed you might be in danger after you spoke at the edge of the wood and sought my guidance. It appears he was correct. You have been asleep for two days but you are on the mend," Legolas said, face troubled and voice tight.

"I don't understand how he knew where to find us," she said, clearly referring to Welethen, "He was _waiting_ for us Legolas, and I have no idea _why_."

Legolas's jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with barely contained fury. He was dressed in his muted scouting armor, and he looked surprisingly travel worn, as though he'd been away from home for several days if not weeks. Thranduil hated when he wore such things, she recalled faintly, felt it made his son look common, though she suspected he meant _Silvan_. Tauriel thought him fair in whatever he chose to wear, but she personally liked him best when he seemed one of _them_. It was similar to her stance on being Captain –their Prince he might be, but his true strength came from his understanding of his people.

"Nor do I, but I will see that he pays dearly for his treatment of you."

"He is not here?" she asked, surprised.

Legolas scowled and shook his head, behind him Kíli looked equally unhappy, arms crossed over his chest. "He and his men disappeared the moment we arrived."

Tauriel frowned and cringed as she shifted slightly, settling herself more comfortably amongst the pillows. She felt as though she'd been struck over and over again by something blunt and heavy. "He was questioning me about the Deep Roads, I thought his intention was to take the dwarves, but he was more interested in our presence in the tunnels themselves. He seemed to think we were _looking_ for something."

Legolas's face creased with confusion. "I am unsure what his purpose here was, my father has sent his new _Captain_ on several such mysterious missions." His tone was riddled with disdain and her heart fell. It appeared he understood the mechanisms of his father as well as she; meaning hardly at all.

"But we will speak of this later, you need your rest," he said kindly and pulled the blankets up under chin in an embarrassingly maternal gesture. Someone had removed her armor and clothing and dressed her in a thick, simple shift –though she did not care to consider who might have performed such tasks. She was not at all used to being treated like she were fragile and she wasn't sure she liked it. However she was very happy to see her Prince and tried not to think of their last parting, where not even a word of farewell had passed between them. She longed to speak to him, to heal whatever wound might have grown or festered, but she didn't even know where to begin building that bridge. But he was here, now, and he had saved her life it seemed, surely that meant he did not hate her so much as she had feared.

"We can't stay long, the dwarves-" she attempted feebly.

"Can manage a few days more," Kíli interrupted sternly. He looked weary, with dark circles under his eyes. She suspected he had not left her side, and her heart warmed at the thought, though she longed to smooth the lines of worry from his brow.

"Sleep now Tauriel, you need your rest," her prince commanded and rose, giving Kíli a meaningfully stern look. She got the sense that something had shifted between them, but she was unsure as to what that might be. Legolas at least seemed more subdued, less resentful, and he turned back at the last moment, tent flap raised, and gave her a soft, strange sort of smile, as though he understood. As though he were granting his permission. She bit her lip, heart thumping, sure she had misunderstood.

The moment Legolas was gone and the tent flap and fallen back into place, Kíli was at her side, taking her uninjured hand gently in his.

"Mahal, you scared me," he breathed gruffly, his tone almost accusatory and she smiled.

"I may have scared myself for a moment or two," she confessed and then asked, "How are the others?"

Kíli grunted as he knelt at her side, elbows braced on her cot as he held her hand gently between both of his. Again she was struck by how large his fingers were, worn and callused and deliciously warm. Despite her current predicament, or perhaps _because_ of it, she felt a shiver creep up her spine; she could remembered the feel of those hands sliding across her waist, hips and thighs through her clothing and tangling in her hair. Valar, he was completely distracting.

"They are well enough, anxious to be on their way and worried for you."

Tauriel snorted in disbelief, shaking free of her inappropriate train of thoughts. "I highly doubt Dwalin or Young Thorin are currently pacing outside the tent, overcome with concern."

Kíli smirked a bit. "Alright, perhaps not all of them are overly distraught, but Orí and Bombur have been. It appears our young scholar has grown rather fond of you," he said this last bit with a playfully accusatory tone and she grinned, though it took a surprising amount of effort. She _was_ very weary. It was an odd sensation. It had been many decades since she'd slept a single night, let alone several in succession.

"Well, he _is_ rather tall for a dwarf," she teased.

Kíli laughed and pressed a kiss to her palm, letting out a long breath of relief that seemed to expel years of tension. He looked tired indeed and she squeezed his fingers in hers, sorry to have worried him.

"I am well," she murmured with a soft smile which he returned with a shaky one of his own.

"I remember distinctly asking you _not_ to almost get yourself killed."

She chuckled and felt her eyes begin to droop. "I have never been very good at following orders," she murmured sleepy and his answering grin was soft and indulgent. Not for the first time she wondered at how safe he made her feel, how wanted and protected. It was another feeling she was not accustomed to, but found it was one she could grow used to.

"Sleep amrâlimê, sleep," he whispered and she felt the warm press of his lips and the brief scratch of his beard against her forehead before warmth and oblivion enveloped her.

Tauriel, who could not recall having ever dreamed before, dreamt of him.

* * *

 **S** he woke again well after night had fallen, alone in the faint lantern light and feeling refreshed and much more herself. She dressed slowly and carefully in clean gear which someone had been kind enough to retrieve from her pack. Her arm was grotesque to behold as she carefully removed the soiled bandages. The stitches had been carefully redone and the wound cleaned, the skin angry but not tinged with infection. She was not considered terribly beautiful among her people, her hair too red and her face too sharp and fierce, but she could admit that she was superficial enough to mourn such a terribly disfiguring mark. It was not the first scar she'd acquired of course, but it was by far the worst. Fighting back ridiculous tears, she wrapped the long wound in a clean bandage before tugging her shirt sleeve down over it, quietly chastising herself for her foolishness. She was a warrior, not some delicate, noble-born maid.

All the dwarves had settled in for the night, most of them snoring and grunting in their sleep around a fading campfire. The elaborate camp had been almost entirely cleared away, only a few small tents remaining and no elves to be seen. She was sorry to not have seen Belúne at least, and wondered at the hasty departure of her people.

Tauriel went in search of Legolas, sensing his presence nearby. She paused over Kíli's prone form, his youthful brow furrowed and his jaw clenched even in slumber. Biting her lip and glancing about to ensure no one was watching, she bent and smoothed a hand across his brow and cheek, planting a soft kiss against his hair line. The young King sighed deeply and the tension eased out of him by degrees until his countenance was relaxed and at peace. She smiled despite herself and rose reluctantly, trying not to think of similar moments where they might lie together as she held him safe through the long, lonely nights.

She found Legolas standing overlooking the valley below, the Forest River roaring on its path south through the trees. She could make out the ending of the wood, another day's travel at most, and she found she was eager to be free of the trees and all they held. Perhaps she was running away, perhaps she was avoiding her problems, but suddenly the Lonely Mountain, small and gray in the distance, seemed more welcoming than her homeland.

"You are ill at ease," Legolas said as she came to stand at his side. He was as still and lifeless as the stone beneath their boots and his eyes were distant, impossible to read. He seemed so very far away from her and her heart ached. Everything that had once been as vital to her as breathing seemed to be slipping further and further out of reach.

"Much has happened since last we parted," she replied cautiously, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

"I spent a great deal of time reflecting when we parted last, Tauriel," he said slowly, not looking at her, but instead to the clouded sky above, where the moon was little more than a faint thought, "for my heart was sorely troubled."

"As was mine, my dear, dear friend," she said earnestly, emotions nearly choking her as they broke free, helpless to contain them. He shushed her with a gentle shake of his head and a soft, sad sort of smile as his eyes flicked briefly to hers.

"As I pondered I began to consider our place in this world," he continued, "our purpose here among the mortal races. Many of our people believe our time here is fading, that we should at last return to the shores of Valinor. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps our time on this Middle-Earth is spent, but doubt troubles my heart. We may live all the ages of this world Tauriel, but what does any of that matter if we do nothing but sit and merely _exist_ all the long days of our lives?"

He turned toward her then, impassioned, his face alight and sincere. "Our people so often feel they stand above the mortal races of this world and they think them lesser, think them beneath us because their lives can seem so short, so meaningless, but we forget the great gift they have been given. They are born knowing that someday their time will end, that their deaths are as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun. They are given so little time in which to matter, in which to make a difference, but they strive to do so nonetheless. Older we may be, but perhaps we are not always wiser. Many of us have lost sight of what is true and good in this world."

He reached between them suddenly and cupped the side of her face in a reverence that left her breathless. She saw in his eyes what others had noticed long before her, and it hurt her to understand the depth of his pain and that she had been the cause. "But not you, my dear, sweet Tauriel. You have always seen the darkness in this world and sought to bring only light in your wake. You were never meant to cower in ancient halls while the glory of the world fades into shadow. I looked upon your feelings for the Dwarf King and felt only disdain, but now… now I think I understand." She flushed at this and would have ducked her head if his gaze had not held her prisoner. "Though his life may pass and your years continue ever on, what is the significance of our lives if we do not cherish such moments while we have them? Is it better to have felt no love at all than be spared the pain of its loss? I would not see you suffer Tauriel, but I would not see you shrink in fear before all that is pure and bright. Perhaps I don't approve of your choice in mate, but I will ever be your friend."

There were no words, no articulate thoughts, so she merely took a step forward and hugged him tight, pouring her love, her gratitude and her understanding through her and into him. He held her for a long while.

"I'm sorry, I am so sorry," she whispered because she knew what was in his heart and that she could never return it as he deserved. She felt as though she were apologizing for every pain, every hurt he had been forced to suffer. Legolas, above nearly all others, deserved peace and happiness.

He shushed her and she could feel him smile against her hair. "I am to go north, to search among the Dunedain. This will not be the last time we meet my friend, I swear it."

Tauriel sniffed and pulled slightly away. "What of your father? I fear for him."

Legolas's face clouded and he released her. "I fear for him also. A darkness covers his heart and mind. I fear to leave him alone but I cannot remain within the wood while evil continues to fester and grow. Be wary of him Tauriel, I fear there are plans afoot that are beyond my understanding. I do not know what purpose Welethen served here, but I am unconvinced it was on my father's order. I do not believe he returned to the palace, though I am unsure where else he would go."

"He will expect me to report to him soon," she said. "What am I to do. He is still my King-"

Legolas took her hands gently in his, a tender smile on his fair face. "And he is mine, but he cannot dictate the commands of our hearts, Tauriel. I think, perhaps, you should go to him when you travel with the dwarves again east. Though it has been difficult to tell of late, he has always cared for you."

She ducked her head, an old tenderness in her heart laid bare. "I am not so sure of that, my Prince."

He lifted her chin with a soft press of his fingers until her gaze met his. " _I_ am certain," he said at a gruff murmur, "Return to him, but do not trust him or those close to him. Remind him of who he is and what once was, if you can."

She nodded and took a deep breath, gathering herself. "Thank you, my Prince, for everything."

When he smiled again there was a deep and longing sadness within his eyes that seemed to stretch across the ages, leaving her breathless in its wake. "Do not thank me," he insisted, "It is I who should be thanking you. You have shown me the path, all which remains is for me to follow it." His words echoed through her like providence and what distance she had perceived between them was gone so quickly it might have never existed at all.

Leaning forward, he pressed a firm, warm kiss to her brow then pulled abruptly away, his face turned from hers though she could see the tight line of his jaw. She thought she might ease that tension away as she had Kíli's, but such an action would hold more weight than it might have in the past, so she stood still and helpless in his wake.

Legolas gathered his pack and bow before turning to her a final time, his features carefully composed. The clouds shifted briefly aside, and the light of the moon rested in his hair and along the planes of his face like molten silver. "We will see each other again, my friend, and remember what I said. Do not fear what is bright and true in this world. Have courage."

Tauriel bowed low, her heart in shambles and tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. "Farewell… Legolas," she said, hardly able to form the words, and when she rose, he was gone.

* * *

 **T** auriel's heart was heavy as the sun rose and crested over the mountains, pale light fluttering across the trees and touching her cheeks with gentle, comforting fingers. But there was also a certainty in her breast, a rightness that was growing within and spreading with each beat of her heart. Just like Legolas, her path was set before her, perhaps it had been all along, and it was time she stopped fighting it. She could not say what the future would hold but she would meet it boldly and with courage.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Kíli came to her as the others went about packing up camp, their faces subdued and anxious, though Orí waved at her enthusiastically and Bombur seemed relieved. Kíli's expression, however, was one of deep anxiety.

She frowned, concerned, and when he reached her side they walked a few dozen paces that they might be out of earshot before she spoke. "What is-"

"You could have gone with him, you know," he said gruffly and without preamble, not looking at her as his boots scuffed across molted leaves. The cut on his temple was healing well, the bandage removed, and the bruises along his cheek bones were faint. He looked more like a tavern ruffian than a King, but she'd always rather liked that about him. He was like her; a little rough about the edges.

"With Legolas, you mean?" She was taken slightly off guard, but the longer she was in his presence, the more certain she became. Legolas had been right, though she had not expected to hear it from him of all people. She had expected for him to rage at her, to expand upon her foolishness, instead he had only told her what she had known all along; that what transpired between them was composed only of beauty and light.

Meanwhile, Kíli grunted, his teeth gritting audibly as he fought some inner battle within. "I know his departure has hurt you and I would not want you to stay if you did not wish to," he said as though every word cost him greatly.

Tauriel raised a brow. "Are you telling me you want me to leave? That you no longer wish me to be here?"

"What!" Kíli exclaimed, lifting his head at last, "No, of course not-" He caught the wry tilt of her lips and scowled, cheeks heating. "I only wanted you to know that you're not bound to stay if you would rather follow after your Prince."

Tauriel fought to contain her smile, the heaviness in her heart evaporating completely. She had been fighting the inevitable for far, far too long. In that moment she felt the utter joy of freedom, a sensation she was sure she had never truly experienced prior.

"And what if I wish to stay with my King instead?" she asked casually, struggling to hide her sudden delight.

Kíli looked startled and then hurt before he quickly glanced away from her, clearly trying to reign in his emotions. "I would understand if you wanted to remain home, here, with your people. I'm sure you didn't ask to be trapped amongst a bunch of stubborn dwarves-"

Biting her lip with amusement she reached out and swept a strand of hair away from his eyes and tucked it affectionately behind his ear, effectively startling him into silence.

"Thranduil was not the King I was referring to," she said softly. His brow furrowed briefly in confusion before understanding dawned and the shadow in his eyes lifted. Their shared smile grew until she could not help the embarrassed _giggle_ that slipped from her between her lips which was echoed by his happy chuckle.

"You are sure you would not rather-" Kíli continued to insist, apparently determined that she not feel indebted to him in anyway even as his grin widened further, threatening to swallow his entire face.

Feeling bold, she bent her head and quieted him with a soft kiss. The world stilled and centered once more as he touched her face reverently, adoringly, and his eyes were burning with pleasure when she pulled away a moment later.

"I will stay with you as long as you will have me."

Kíli smirked as his hands found hers, squeezing them tightly before lifting them to kiss the knuckles of each soundly. "Then I hope you are prepared to remain with me forever because, now that I have you, I am never letting you go."


	12. Blood in the Snow

_I'll never forget that feeling_   
_When I watched you disappear_   
_When you made me stop believing_   
_I could fight away the fear_   
_Now the smoke has cleared_   
_And the end is near_   
_It was my illusion_   
_Like a broken dream I was incomplete_   
_But your love was never missing_

_-Under Control, by Ellie Goulding_

* * *

" **I** don't mean to rub salt in a wound here," Dwalin said petulantly. "But would either of you care to tell me what in the name of Mahal happened back there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the line of trees half a day behind them.

Tauriel paused over the campfire, wooden spoon suspended over the bubbling stew. The sun was just beginning to set inthe west, an orange and pink glow cast over bluing snow, though the ground beneath their camp was mostly clear due to hovering rock formations and some quick shoveling. Above them the peaks of the Gray Mountains loomed like jagged teeth in a decaying mouth, full of mystery and promise.

Tauriel rose and cringed internally. She exchanged a heavy glance with Kíli as his hand stopped running a bit of dirty cloth along the edge of his sword. The company had spoken little on their passage through the trees, the dwarves tense and belligerent until they were beneath open sky, and nearly all of them -save Orí and Kíli- had been giving her a wider berth. Not that she could blame them. Her people hadn't exactly been inviting either time they'd dared enter the wood. Tauriel felt easier as well, though it brought her a measure of shame. She was unused to running away from her problems.

Kíli set his sword aside, looking to Tauriel for permission, and she gave him a slight nod.

"Apparently the new Elven Captain thought we were in those tunnels looking for something," he said carefully, ensuring everyone's attention.

Gloin grunted sardonically as he prepared his bedroll. "Aye, a bloody exit. The place was damned unnatural."

Bombur nodded his fervent agreement.

Kíli continued on as though he hadn't heard the red-haired dwarf. "There wasn't much discussion before he threw us into those cages," his eyes darkened perceptively with memory and a chill crept up her spine as she recalled sharp fingers digging into her injured arm. "But I think Tauriel agrees that they had been waiting for us to emerge for some time."

The chill was followed by a burst of anger as the memory of pain was followed by the gleam of a dagger against Kíli's olive skin. Tauriel was an efficient and ruthless warrior when necessary, but she did not relish death or killing and was not prone to fits of violence, but Welethen would pay and she would see justice dealt.

Tauriel's jaw clenched as the dwarves looked to her. She was, indeed, in agreement. Though she still shied away from the glaringly logical explanation. Bofur had no such qualms.

He blew out a heavy cloud of pipe smoke, obscuring his face and his deep frown. "Guess that means your friends at the guard post betrayed us."

Tauriel flinched and lowered her head. After her discussion with Legolas, she thought it unlikely that Curial had been the culprit, but the thought that it had been one of the other scouts did little to ease the ache in her breast.

Young Thorin scowled darkly from his seat at the far end of the camp. "If the She-Elf didn't do it herself."

Tauriel's looked up with a faint sigh of exasperation and Kíli jerked his head in his kinsmen's direction, eyes hot with anger. He opened his mouth, likely to issue some sort of reprimand, but Tauriel forestalled him.

"I fear something dark is at work among my people," she admitted, finding a seat near Kíli and clutching her hands together to hide their telling tremble. "I fear for my King under Welethen's influence. I was never fond of him, that is no secret within the guard, but he is different… changed. There is a darkness about him that troubles me deeply,"

Young Thorin glared, eyes flashing, and he rose angrily to his feet. "I told you all we shouldn't have gone into the forest. That we shouldn't have trusted the elves!" He was speaking directly to Kíli, his entire manner challenging and Dwalin growled.

"You should show your King some respect, lad," the bald dwarf's voice was quiet like the slide of freshly sharpened steel. The anxiety and uncertainty of the past week seemed to condense and focus to a point, putting all the dwarves on edge.

Young Thorin scoffed and threw his hands up. "Respect is earned and I've seen nothing of this would be King but poor judgment and a sick fascination with our traitorous Elven guide," he spat with venom. "Better he had died alongside his Uncle and brother and left Erebor in the hands of my father-"

His tirade was cut short by Tauriel's dagger at his throat. Her body was thrumming with anger and pent frustration. She cared little for the hot-head dwarf's opinion of her, but she would not suffer his slandering of Kíli. He had suffered too much and endured far more than he deserved to have it thrown in his face by one so ignorant and blind.

Young Thorin's eyes blinked up at her, wide with shock. "You will mind your tongue or I will mind it for you," she hissed, pressing her knife briefly against the bulge of his throat through his beard, before swiftly pulling away and sheathing it at her hip.

The camp was deadly silent save for the crackling of the fire and the faint bubbling of the stew as reality came rushing back. All of Tauriel's fight went out of her in a rush, leaving her strangely weak and trembling.

She should not have reacted so violently, she knew that, but a thread of tension had been winding tighter and tighter within her since their escape from the forest, threatening to snap at any moment. And she was just so _tired_ of Young Thorin's attitude and anger, because, in some large way, she saw it as a representation of what she would have to face over and over again in the future. She had made her decision with Kíli, that soft, quiet moment in the forest, that she would stay, that she would see whatever was between them through, but looking into the fear and hatred clouded eyes of Young Thorin, she began to truly understand just how much stood between them.

Without another word, the young dwarf turned on his heel and stalked away into the fading light. Tauriel let out a harsh breath, afraid to look at anyone as she tried to gather herself. Eventually Gloin was at her side, patting her arm awkwardly.

"You did right, lass, don't fret," he grumbled and she looked down at him in surprise. There was a gentleness to his eyes but it was hardened by a hint of respect, a look mirrored in Bofur's eyes and in Bombur's.

"I will talk to the lad," Dwalin said at last, kicking angrily at the frozen ground before departing.

Tauriel looked to Kíli and his gaze was troubled, but softened as he read the torment within hers.

"I'm sorry," she said automatically, because she was.

She was sorry for Young Thorin's words that now hung at the back of everyone's minds, the words that pointed out the importance of their closeness and at everything they'd been attempting to keep hidden. It was a nagging truth she could see taking root in Bombur's, Ori's and Bofur's eyes and she could think of nothing to draw it away again.

* * *

 **I** t was Orí, not Kíli, who came to her that night.

Her friend settled beside her on the ledge of the overhanging rock, feet poking straight out in front of him as hers dangled. The campfire crackled below them, Bombur's snores a bracing counter point, and the night was cold but surprisingly clear, with only stray wisps of clouds disrupting the moonlight.

She could see Kíli's form, huddled in sleep on one side of the fire, his sword clutched in hand. He had not attempted to speak to her since the display over dinner, and she suspected he was giving her some time and space to sort through her emotions.

"We have stories among my people," Orí said after a span of silence. "About dwarven men who fall for human women."

Tauriel tensed, her heart stuttering in a fit of nervous fear, and said nothing. She glanced at her companion's face as he stared upward, moonlight reflected in his eyes. Had she really believed this moment would never come? No, no… she'd known the dwarves were suspicious long before Young Thorin's outburst. She'd only hoped, _wished_ , they could live in their little world for a bit longer.

"You asked me once about our women and I told you there aren't many of them, which is true. Only the bravest, highest born dwarves can truly hope for a wife, and even then it is no guarantee." He paused, settling himself. He looked older in the fading light, lines she hadn't noticed before creasing at his eyes.

"It is perhaps of little wonder that many warriors find… affection elsewhere," he continued, as though he were commenting on something drab and ordinary, like Tauriel's attempts at making stew -which were very poor.

"Orí, please-" she began, pleading, not sure she could bear whatever he might say next.

He surprised her by taking her hand, fingers thick and palms wide. His smile was both warm and sad.

"One of my Uncles fell for a human lass. A pretty thing; sweet and kind and wise beyond her years. Saved him from a pack of wolves one night. Came into his camp brandishing a torch and nothing else, hollering and whistling till they ran. He left nearly his entire life behind for her, and she for him. Their families abhorred the match, of course; her village drove them from town but…"

Orí paused and Tauriel could feel the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. Valar, she could not bear to hear more. The dwarf squeezed her hand and his eyes twinkled with affection.

"But I have never known a happier man."

He drew in a breath and looked away. Tauriel could tell by the tightness in his jaw and the press of his palm against the back of her hand that he wasn't sure how to proceed. That what he meant to say next was difficult for him to articulate.

"I have known Kíli all his life… we grew up together, played together, got into trouble together." He smiled ruefully at some memory, the ghost of it bright in his eyes. "He has always been reckless and carefree; seeing little in combat but glory and challenge. Fíli grew up understanding he was Thorin's heir, even if he couldn't quite comprehend what that meant. And Thorin was hard on Fíli. Very hard. He expect a lot from him. Oh he'd get into trouble with the rest of us," he said with a chuckle, "but was always given the harshest punishments if we were caught, and was always getting his little brother out of trouble and taking the blame. Thorin was different with Kíli... _softer_ , more patient, indulgent even. Kíli never expected to be a Prince, never had any inkling of what it might truly mean beyond his blind love for Thorin and Fíli. He likely never entertained the idea that he might someday be forced to lead our people and… the lad I knew could not have, if I am being honest."

He looked at her again, eyes earnest, brimming with some emotion she couldn't place. "I saw from the first how taken Kíli was with you –no, don't bother to deny it, it's alright. I saw the way he looked to you, and I saw something… _change_ in him. The quest was no longer a game to him. Erebor was no longer a distant probability. After your meeting, after you saved his life, he was a different dwarf. I do not believe he could have recovered from Thorin's and Fíli's deaths without you, if he would have been able to overcome the call of the Arkenstone or make peace with Thranduil. Perhaps the others did not understand but I did, I understood exactly… he was doing all of it for _you_."

Tauriel found herself crying. Valar, she felt as though she were _always_ crying these days. Silent tears of relief and shame and guilt, the strangest sense of empty relief echoing in the wake of his words; a burden lifted. There was nothing she could say, nothing that could relate her gratitude, but she sensed that Orí did not need them, sensed that he understood. He reached out, the same sad, kind smile on his face, and placed his hand on her shoulder. It was warm through her tunic.

"Whatever happens now, you have my support. You both do. I can't pretend that it will be easy, what is between you, or that my people will ever accept you… but I have seen the King you have made him. He needs you, Tauriel, and so, in turn, do we."

They sat there for a time, in comfortable silence, until he eventually left to find his bed. Tauriel swept the moisture from her face and smiled into the starlight.

* * *

 **T** he dwarves were up early the next morning. She'd woken Bofur, who slept the lightest, as a storm began to move in from the north, clouds dark and threatening.

Dwalin grunted as he rolled his bedroll and fixed it to his pack. "It's moving fast, we'll need to hurry if we're to beat it to the pass."

Kíli stamped out the fire, hands busy lacing his tunic, and offered her a small but warm smile; a smile that said a variety of things, but mostly seemed to say _'we're alright, everything will be alright'_. It eased some of the remaining tension coiled inside her.

Young Thorin came stomping into camp the next moment, however, and his baleful glare was enough to remind her that things were not alright, not at all. There was murder in the young dwarf's eyes and her heart sunk. She'd likely done much more harm than good. The urge to apologize was there, to perhaps explain herself in some way, but her famous temper kept her from giving voice to the impulse.

"How far is the pass?" Tauriel asked, ignoring Young Throin's glares, and looked up into the shadows of the mountain. They did not appear very welcoming.

Bofur frowned. "We might make the gate by nightfall, if we hurry. The snow will slow us down, as will that storm if we don't make it before it catches us."

"Then we'll just have to make it, won't we?" Tauriel said, hiking up her own pack and swinging her hair over her shoulder. She felt vulnerable without her bow, missing its weight at her back, but at least she still had her long-knives. "I will scout ahead, ensure the pass is not completely sealed in snow."

Kíli looked as though he wanted to protest, but managed a nod after a moment of thought. "Be careful, despite reports, there may be hidden packs of Orcs."

"I'll not be gone long," she said with a reserved smile, conscious of prying, interested eyes. She intended to hike a few hours, asses their route, and return before the sun was too high in the sky.

"Keep north, between that ridge and the one opposite," Dwalin said, pointing. "The old gate is just below that third peak." She was vaguely touched by his confidence in her, but wondered if perhaps he just wanted her gone for a few hours.

She could tell by the way Bombur's eyes shifted from hers, and by Gloin's fervent interest in his boots, that they were uncomfortable about yesterday's incident. The distance between them was growing, and she wasn't at all sure how to close it again. Tauriel nodded with an internal sigh and headed up the mountain slope, nimble across the untouched snow. She could feel their eyes on her, heavy and deliberate, and not all of them kind.

* * *

 **T** auriel crested the rise just as the wind truly began to howl, ripping back the hood of her cloak and momentarily robbing her of breath.

The storm was near, far nearer than she'd hoped, with a light dusting of snow flakes already dancing before her in warning of what was to come. The pass before her was entirely covered in snow, but passable, she hoped. Near the base of the closest peak she could see the shadow of something dark, yawning against the seemingly endless pallet of white. She prayed that was the gate Dwalin had mentioned.

She glanced behind her, down into the valley, and could easily spot the party of dwarves carving their way up the mountainside. Their going was much slower, their bulk forcing them to wade through knee deep snow at a fraction of her pace, leaving them at least an hour behind. The sky rumbled above her, warning her they likely would not reach the gates in time. The snow in the pass was much deeper and it would slow them considerably. She waved her hand broadly until one of the figures, perhaps Kíli she couldn't be sure, returned the gesture.

Tauriel needed a plan, a means to make the journey faster, or maybe find a place for them to take cover till the storm passed. Perhaps if she-

There was flicker in the distance, like the flash of a blade caught in sunlight. She yanked the hood of her cloak back over her head and crouched low, hands on the hilt of her daggers. Eyes narrowed, she peered through the growing snow fall. Figures moved, some small and brown, others black and looming. She took a deep breath and caught a faint, foul scent on the breeze.

"Orcs," she murmured, and drew her knives.

Silent and swift she crossed the snow, praying their numbers were not too large. As she drew nearer she discovered that the small brown shapes were not Orcs, but likely dwarves; dwarves that were running for their lives. She could catch the faint lit of their voices over the storm, desperate and fearful. There were three of them, trailed but six –no eight Orcs- and they were gaining on them. The odds were not great, she mused, but she'd had worst.

She ran in an arch, intent on attacking them from the flank, hoping for the element of surprise, but doubting she would be so lucky. Orcs had an excellent sense of smell, Valar damn them. One of the dwarves stumbled, disappearing in a wave of flurries, and she wished desperately that she had her bow. She rose to her full height and lengthened her stride, abandoning her plans as the fastest Orc closed in on the prone, struggle figure.

With a cry she sprang at the Orc, who'd been so intent on his prize she had indeed managed to take it unawares, both daggers buried deep in its chest and throat. It was dead in a moment, decayed mouth wide, and she pulled the blades free in time to meet the decent of an axe. The blow nearly shook the dagger from her hand, reverberating painfully up her injured arm, but she managed to at least partially deflect it and duck to the side.

She could hear the dwarves yelling behind her, their language guttural and harsh, and she prayed that they intended to help her. Another Orc let loose a fierce battle cry and charged toward her and she whirled, catching it in the stomach, feeling the sick glide of flesh parted like parchment and the warm gush of blood.

From the corner of her eye she caught the flash of steel and spun, relieved to see one of the dwarves, who wore fine, heavy armor, had come to her aid. The other dwarf had a broad sword drawn but wavered on his feet, clearly wounded and barely able to stand. The figure who'd fallen was smaller and less heavily armored but held a mean looking sword in hand. Tauriel realized, with a start, that despite the beard, the dwarf was clearly a woman.

Their eyes met for a moment before the dwarf woman yelled, in the common tongue, "Behind you!"

Tauriel rolled to one side, narrowly missing the fall of a crudely cut sword as it tore through her cloak, then rolled again as it swung wide, too wide, throwing it off balance. She pressed one dagger up between its ribs, losing a bit of footing in the snow so that pulling it free left her fumbling for purchase.

There was only the scent of death and a swath of black flesh as she attempted to raise her knives to fend off her next attacker, but too late, she knew it would be too late. The clash of steel against steel echoed violently through the canyon, stinging in her ears like the clap of a bell, as a sword loomed inches from her face, keeping a razor's edge only barely at bay. Tauriel ducked beneath them and drove her knives deep into the Orc's chest, and then... it was over. A strange and deep silence fell over the pass.

Tauriel slumped, kneeling in the snow and sinking several inches. Her recently injured arm burned from exertion making her acutely aware that she was not entirely recovered from her ordeal in the forest. She felt rather faint and her breath was coming fast, faster than the effort she'd exerted warranted.

A blade slid under her chin, tilting her face upward, and Tauriel tensed as the dwarf woman stepped closer, eyes narrowed. Tauriel let her knives slip through her fingers, blades sinking into the snow, and raised her hands slowly in surrender.

"What is your purpose here, _she-elf_ ," the woman growled. She was dark haired, with a wispy, oddly feminine beard. Her clothes were fine, though travel worn; a fitted wool tunic and leather trousers with a wide belt. Her features were aristocratic and familiar, though for a moment, Tauriel could not place them.

"I am accompanying a part of dwarves into the mountains," she replied carefully. "They sent me to scout ahead, where I came across your company pursued by these Orcs." She gestured to the corpse before them, a truly disgusting specimen of molted black skin and a disfigured, lumpy face.

Tauriel felt the blade beneath her chin ease a little and drew a shallow breath. The dwarven men hurried to the woman's side, muttering to her frantically in their tongue, clearly anxious or even outright angry. The woman silenced them with an uplifted hand, her face imperious, and that's when the truth shone bright and undeniable. She was looking at Thorin, or Kíli in a slightly different, prettier face. It was disarming how much her youngest son looked like her and Tauriel could feel the blood rushing to her face in the strangest blush.

"Who are you," the woman demanded.

Tauriel wet her lips. "I am Ca- Tauriel, of the Woodland Realm, recently made Ambassador to the reclaimed city of Erebor," she said. "And you're the Princess Dís. I have traveled here with your son to find you."

The sword shivered then fell away as hope and grief warred within familiar blue eyes.


	13. Come Back to Me

_Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone_   
_Is where you go when you're alone_   
_Is where you go to rest your bones_   
_It's not just where you lay your head_   
_It's not just where you make your bed_   
_As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?_

_-Home, by Gabrielle Aplin_

* * *

**T** auriel slurped delicately at her stew and wondered how many times she would sit awkwardly around a fire, under a mountain, surrounded by wary dwarves. More times than she'd be able to count, she imagined grumpily.

It might have been a relatively comfortable silence if not for the presence of the two new dwarves and, of course, Young Thorin, who sat directly across from her. His eyes were dark, hooded, and deeply troubled; they made Tauriel's heart ache for words unspoken and moment's ill handled. They would have to speak sometime, the two of them, and Kili needed to take his words more seriously; words that could damage his reign before it even began. Even the injured dwarf, heavy bandages wrapped across his shoulder and chest beneath a torn and bloody tunic, managed to glare at her as he reclined against several of their packs.

She took another hesitant spoonful of stew, feeling decidedly like an animal caught in a cage, and keept her eyes down.

"How is your arm?" Orí asked at a whisper, voice laced with genuine concern.

Tauriel made a face, then forced a smile. She was very tired, muscles jumping in protest every time she moved. "Tender, but I will be alright."

Orí frowned, clearly not convinced, but let her be. The mood was somber, more so than it had been for many weeks; the ghosts of those who'd fallen freshly stirred and lingering.

She glanced over her shoulder, watching the faint shadows of Kíli and his mother as they stood apart, concealed in the shadow of a crumbling column. She could hear the tone of the conversation, though she understood none of it; sad, harried, angry, and sad again. She wished she could stand at his side, offer him what comfort she could, but she understood the need for privacy, that this moment what meant for mother and son.

Tauriel would never forget the moment Dís had laid eyes on her son as he fought his way through the snow. The Princess had known of Thorin's and Fíli's death, that much was clear, the truth like a sword in her eyes –cutting, sharp, cold-, word spreading faster and further than any of them had anticipated. It was like she'd been reborn, like she was seeing an illusion she so desperately wanted to be real. Tauriel had caught the look of fear and apprehension in Kíli's eyes as he halted, face slack with shock, and then contorted by terrible, terrible guilt.

His first words slipped out broken and scattered, "Mother… mother I'm sorry, I am so sorry-"

Words which were snatched and stifled by the forceful embrace of his mother's arms and the cadence of her words in the language of their people. They'd sunk to their knees in the snow, wrapped around one another like dark stones in a tortured sea, surrounded in the reverent silence of those who looked on. In that moment, it felt as though everything they had suffered, every setback and disaster they had endured, had been worth it.

Eventually the two of them had untangled themselves, eyes wet, smiles bright and tinged with disbelief, and they'd hurried toward the promise of shelter. As soon as they'd forced their way into the cavern, mother and son had drifted away and the rest of them had set up camp.

The room they'd settled into ran along the main entryway of the gate into the old dwarven keep, it was small but relatively comfortable, and endlessly preferable to the blizzard that raged outside. There was a decided lack of dwarven skeletons, which she appreciated.

Orí had explained there were once many such places; small cities and outposts between the great dwarven kingdoms, this –called the Gray Watch in the common tongue- was one of very few still in use. In better times there had been a guard outpost stationed within, but it had sat empty since the fall of Erebor, collecting dust and spiders in tomb-like silence.

"They say you saved the Princess," Gloín grumbled suddenly, clearly trying to break the tension. "Is that true?"

Tauriel had the impression that their newly acquired companions might not have worded it so kindly, but she forced a smile -it felt hollow and tired on her face.

"Ah, yes, I suppose so." She said carefully, eating the last spoonful of stew and setting her bowl aside. "Though she saved mine in turn."

Bofur raised his brows, clearly impressed, but didn't press further and explained instead, "Seems the Princess and her guard were separated from the main host during an orc raid."

Tauriel frowned, feeling a touch of trepidation. "How large was the raid party? Where are the other dwarves?"

"The orc's were relatively few," the injured dwarf replied in a gruff voice, staring intently into the fire rather than at her. "They seemed intent on the Princess, most left the bulk of our people behind in favor of tracking us." His words carried a heavy meaning.

"You suspect treachery?" Dwalin growled, the lines of his face fierce and unflinching as steel in the firelight.

"Aye," the other guard said with a grim nod of his head.

"Been a lot of that going around recently," Bofur muttered into his tankard, and Tauriel flushed, hoping he was not insinuating he believed she'd been involved with the disaster in the forest.

He caught her eye and smiled a little as if he understood her concern and wished to placate it. She took it as a small, though positive sign that perhaps not all the dwarves were entirely against her.

"My wife and son," Gloin pressed, voice slightly strangled.

The guard grinned a bit, though it faded quickly. "They are well, fear not. They shot at Rune and I plenty, but they avoided Her Highness and everyone else when we were herded away from the rest. Bastards were clearly intent on capturing her rather than killing her."

"Intent on capturing the King's mother… for ransom?" Tauriel asked before she could think better of it.

The guard met her eyes, still wary, still unsure, but she could see he was trying to be respectful. Or at least tolerant, for which Tauriel was grateful. "Orc's rarely take captives for anything other than slaves. They aren't what you'd consider… _politically_ savvy."

"Unless they've someone leading from the shadows, someone with a plan" Dwalin said.

"Aye," the guard agreed, voice rough.

"There seem to be a great deal of hidden hands recently," Orí said morosely and caught Tauriel's eye.

He was right, of course. Mysteries within mysteries, drawing ever more questions and fewer and fewer answers. She'd once believed that things would be easier after the war, after the mountain had been reclaimed; a foolish wish, of course, it had been clear from the start that things would only become more complex once the smoke had cleared and the dead buried.

Tauriel was no politician –another of the many reasons her position as 'Ambassador' was ridiculous- she was used to solving problems when they were easy to spot, the solution clear and forthright. Her opponents were usually armed or fanged and didn't skulk and shift in the background of events, waiting for their moment to strike. No, she would not be able to fight her way out of this, which left her feeling rather helpless. It was a feeling she was unaccustomed to and desperate to be rid of.

"We'll send someone to scout tomorrow morning, make sure the others find their way," Dwalin said after a tense silence. Tauriel opened her mouth to volunteer herself, but shut it quickly, deciding to wait and see how she felt come morning.

The injured guard nodded, sitting up a little with a wince. "Thank ye, hopefully the storm lets up, it was a difficult journey." The bandages on his shoulder were stained red, peaking out beneath the stretch of his tunic as he moved. His color seemed better though, so perhaps she could avoid offering to take a closer look at his injuries. She doubted he'd allow it, anyway.

Silence descended and her thoughts churned along a dark path.

It seemed impossible that the orc party's attempt to capture the dwarven Princess could in anyway be related to what they'd experienced in the forest… but something nagged at her, a fine string that seemed to tie the two together beyond all reason. She had a sense that dark shadows were converging, plotting and twisting, waiting to strike, and at the center stood Erebor… and its new King. A plot had been foiled at the gates of the dwarven city and she believed, as Gandalf had, that retribution would come.

It was only a matter of when, not if.

She only wished that she could see and understand her role in the events to come, that she could make some sense of the chaos. What could she do, if anything, to protect Kíli? She didn't need to question if she'd be willing to give her own life in barter for his -she felt it had already been answered several times over. No, the _real_ question was whether or not such a sacrifice would be enough.

Suddenly the mountain felt close, too close, the weight of cold rock and reaching shadows suffocating her beneath its relentless press. The helpless feeling, which had begun to fester the moment Kíli had emerged from Thranduil's tent all those weeks ago that someone felt like years, threatened to drown her.

She rose sharply to her feet and rubbed a hand over her face, arm throbbing.

"Are you well?" Orí asked with a frown and she shot him a smile over her shoulder as she moved toward the doorway. How could she tell him? How could she explain that sometimes she felt so lost that she didn't know where the sky ended and the world began?

So she said, "Yes, I'd just like to see how the storm is progressing."

Dwalin snorted sardonically but said nothing and she slipped quietly away, avoiding the urge to run.

* * *

 **T** he storm raged, relentless and unfeeling as she stood in the shadow of the mountain while the sun fell swiftly into a frozen night. By morning she'd be lucky to see over the growing snow drift, she thought, breathing in the chill. It was refreshing and she felt grounded, more… _solid_ somehow. She hoped the dwarves from the Blue Mountains had found some form of shelter, it was likely to be a long, icy night.

"My son tells me you saved his life."

Tauriel whirled with a small gasp. Apparently Kíli's unnatural ability to continually sneak up on her was hereditary.

"Your Highness," she said softly and dipped into a slight bow. The dwarf woman was nearly as imposing as her elder brother; regal and strong with the same long, black, graying hair that she wore swept back into a long tail. Kíli had her eyes, the arch of her nose, and her height, but her mouth was fuller and her chin softer. Her elder son had hardly looked like her at all, so he must have taken after their father; Tauriel had always quietly thought of them -Kíli and Fíli that is- as night and day, light and dark, bright and shadowed.

_And what was the night without the day?_

The Princess Dís fluttered a hand at her, expression severe. A look that was eerily similar to the one her brother had so often worn when they'd had chance to meet –which, granted, had never been under the best of circumstances.

"None of that nonsense if you please. I've spent too much of my life living off what only my hands can provide to have people bowing and simpering at me."

Tauriel fought back a smirk, respect swelling despite herself. Her hands trembled slightly with nerves, terrified that the truth of her affections must be written boldly across her face, wondering what this imposing creature must think of her. "Of course, my lady."

The Princess's eyes narrowed at her in the growing shadows before turning out toward the storm. "Kíli told me that you were there, at the Gates, that you saved his life. Is this true?"

Tauriel bit her lip, the memories of that day rising with a terrible ferocity she had not anticipated. She could recall the screams and cries, she could smell the death and smoke and fear, and she could see Kíli's face across a sea of churning bodies and broken blades – _he was_ _too far, so far, she wasn't going to make it, she couldn't save him-_

She took a shuddering breath, tasting bile in the back of her throat.

"Yes, though I failed to save his brother and Uncle." _Your son and brother_ , her tortured thoughts added, and she swallowed thickly as she willed the demons back into the darkest reaches of her soul.

She wondered if she would ever be rid of them, if she would ever escape their burden, and supposed that no one ever truly left the battlefield. Thranduil certainly never had –his wife had died at war and a much different Elf had returned, though this had been long before her existence. The memory had still caused Legolas much pain, pain beyond his ability to express, but it had haunted his gaze often when he looked upon his father, as though he were looking for something or someone that no longer existed.

No, she knew a piece of herself would always remain with the fallen, lost forever to blood and senseless violence.

The silence stretched and Tauriel was afraid to look at the other woman, to see the hatred that surely boiled in her eyes, the confirmation of her failures-

Tauriel nearly jumped out of her skin when a soft, wide hand touched the side of her face and pressed gently. The Princess's expression had soften and her eyes glittered with unshed tears and something that could almost be gratitude. Something that Tauriel didn't deserve.

"I have lived to watch my entire family die, one after the other. I lost my home and my birthright and watched my grandfather and father fall into madness, and then had to sit by while my elder brother fought that same darkness with my sons chasing after him." A tear slipped free of dark lashes, catching the fading light. "I have known more loss than I feel I am able to bear… but you have given me a greater gift than perhaps you can imagine." The Princess drew a long breath, her eyes fathomless pools that held Tauriel imprisoned. "The hatred between our people has been long and often bloody, the old prejudices run deep, but from this day forward I name you _khuzd umral_ , Dwarf Friend, and I shall be in your debt all of my life."

Tauriel was stunned and motionless as the dwarf woman grasped her face in both hands and pulled her downward to place a warm, teary kiss to her brow. The depth of sorrow and loss in the Princess's eyes had nearly splintered her heart in to ragged pieces, so great was the burden and the weight of her dead. Tauriel was certain she had never met a stronger being in all her life, and was beyond touched by her kindness and gratitude.

Dís pulled away, a smirk wavering on her face as she quickly brushed her tears away, and appeared to center herself once more. It was like she'd pulled on a regal shroud, becoming a life hardened Princess once more, and leaving the emotional woman who'd seen too much pain in her life, behind. How many times had this woman been asked to stare death and loss in the eye, then turn away, only to pick up the pieces of her life again?

Tauriel, who was certainly several hundred years older, felt childlike in the shadow of such unimaginable pain.

"Now, tell me, Ambassador Tauriel," Dís said in a steady voice, "what drives you to consistently come to the rescue of Dwarven royalty?"

Tauriel was so surprised by the question that she laughed outright, an indelicate burst that eased some of the pain in her breast, and Dís smiled ruefully in turn. She meant it, her promise, it was clear in her eyes –Tauriel had quietly dreaded this moment, subconsciously aware that the Princess's good-opinion would be invaluable to her. She'd never imagined that it would be so easy... but that wasn't right either. It hadn't been an easy road at all, not for Tauriel, and certainly not for the Princess. They'd had to lose much, so much, almost everything, to find themselves on common ground. It made her wonder at the will of the Valar; if they had laid this path before her from the very beginning, if she had been _destined_ to share this moment with this woman beneath a frozen mountain.

The scope of it was rather dizzying.

She wasn't sure which idea was more terrifying; that her fate was already dictated, or that everything was left entirely to chance.

"I do seem to be making a habit of it," she acknowledged finally, tone rather bland as she considered Kíli's propensity to throw himself wildly into conflict and mayhem.

"Unless my son has changed entirely, I imagine it a thankless job indeed."

Tauriel recalled the hot press of his lips on hers, the burn of his hands at her waist, and prayed to the Valar that the Princess could not see her flush in the darkness.

"It is certainly trying at times, my lady," she managed.

A pause, and then. "Why do you believe your King made you an Ambassador to my people? You must admit… it is very unprecedented."

Tauriel could barely see her in the falling night, the storm a wailing whisper outside, the moon and stars hidden entirely from view. There was only the gleam of her jawline and the glitter of the silver and gold beads set into her hair. Tauriel sighed and leaned against the door-frame of the gate, arm still aching but her head clear.

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted at last, though she knew Thranduil had ordered it with contrition and malice, but felt that was probably self-evident. "He was prompted by _Mithr-_ Gandalf, who hoped that in light of the war, things might… _ease_ between our people, and that I might be the-," she fought for the right word and settled on, " _lever_ that moved the mountain. Ah, if you understand my meaning." Tauriel flushed, feeling foolish.

The princess chuckled lightly, easing her discomfort somewhat. "It is in the nature of Wizards to meddle. Some nights I curse the day he appeared to Thorin and whisked him away… and others, well, let us just say that I am glad he had the foresight that he did." She could feel the Princess's eyes on her, even if she couldn't see them, not clearly. "If he believes you can do well here, among my people, then he must have a sense of the challenges to come."

Another pause, this one pregnant with unspoken questions. At last, "I must know, however, are you loyal to him… my son? There are intrigues afoot that are beyond my understanding and Kíli will need friends at his back, as many as he can garner."

_I would give my life, my very soul for him. I would offer every hour, every minute of my long existence to protect and council him._

"Fate has led me to his side," Tauriel said at last, "and it is where I mean to stay."

"Good, I am glad," the Princess said, sounding sincere, then added, "though I must admit, it is very like my son to throw tradition entirely to the wayside in favor of befriending a _she-elf_ of all creatures."

"Thorin wasn't overly fond of me," she offered, not bothering to fight back her smile.

"Yes, well, that's to be expected. It might have something to do with Kíli's affection for you. He always did enjoy toying with his Uncle's famous temper," Tauriel tried to ignore the panicky feeling that swept over her at the word _affection,_ and instead focused on the grave, wistful tone the Princess's words had taken when she spoke of her brother. It held the faint echo of another loved one gone.

She didn't need to wonder what Dís would think when she learned the truth about she and her son, Tauriel didn't know whether her offer of friendship would remain when the other's related to Dís the depth of their attachment-she rather doubted it-, but she felt that she needed to make sure this imposing woman understood, that she _believed_ what Tauriel said next.

"I will look after him. I will protect him."

There was a sigh, forlorn and heavy, caught by the gale of the storm, then, "I have no doubt that you will, Lady Ambassador. I only hope that it will be enough."

Her words echoed Tauriel's earlier fears and the uncertainty of the future lay heavy between them. Tauriel realized that, in the days to come –despite whatever misgivings and warranted anger Dís might have when certain truths came to light- the Princess would likely be either her greatest ally or the orchestrator of her undoing.

* * *

 **K** íli was there when they returned to the fire, seated next to Dwalin, looking listless and weary. His brows shot up in surprise –and perhaps a touch of alarm- as first his mother and then Tauriel entered the chamber. He quickly masked his shock, jaw snapping shut, and sent Tauriel a brief, wondering look.

Dwalin rushed forward, his cheeks alarmingly pink, and took the Princess's hand, bending over it in a surprising act of social grace. "Your Highness, it is so, ah, good to see that you are well. I mean unharmed."

Bofur snorted into his pipe and Gloin grinned broadly. Tauriel watched as Dís fought back an amused smile with Kíli frowning deeply from across the fire.

"I am pleased to see you have come through your tribulations and adventures unharmed, Master Dwalin."

Dwalin lifted his head slightly, looking stricken. "My lady I have failed you-"

"No," Dís said in a hard voice, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You will not blame yourself. Your bravery, dedication, and loyalty have given us back our homeland." The Princess lifted her head, clearly directing her words to the entire company. "You served my brother in our darkest hour, I ask, will you serve my son in the breaking dawn?"

Tauriel, who had been fixated on the Princess as she spoke, turned to find all the dwarves were on their feet. Even the injured dwarf –Rune, wasn't it?- wobbled on the arm of the other guard. The air was thick with sudden formality and ceremony; like the mountain itself was holding its breath, listening carefully to their every word.

Dwalin released the Princess's hand and turned to kneel before Kíli, whose expression was clouded and difficult to read. Kili's throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

The tattooed dwarf pounded a fist hard against his chest and said, in a deep voice, rough with emotion, " _Mimnu DurÎn."_

The other dwarves quickly followed suite, including the Princess. Young Thorin scowled, looking like he meant to resist, and Orí elbowed him hard in the ribs, a devilish smile on his face as the other dwarf coughed and sputtered, but went to his knees. The injured guard winched as he knelt, but his eyes shone with determination and sincerity, a look replicated on all of their faces –well, save for Young Thorin, whose head was down, expression hidden. Tauriel ignored him, intent on appreciating the moment. Bombur had already begun to cry and Gloin looked faintly angry about the moisture on his face, glaring at Bofur when he glanced at him, brows raised in amusement. They bowed their heads in unison, and repeated the phrase, " _Mimnu DurÎn!"_

Kíli drew in a harsh breath, fists clenching at his sides, legs spread apart, looking very like he expected a terrible blow to land at any moment. His eyes met hers and held them as she knelt in her turn, and she hid her smile as he appeared faintly ill.

 _"Anthon velethen anden, aran vell,"_ she said, bowing her head briefly before raising it in time to see that he understood her words -if the flush creeping slowly up his neck was any indication. His fingers unclenched and a smile flickered briefly on his face, as though her words had been a soothing balm.

"Can't run from it now, lad," Gloin said with a hint of humor.

"Aye, you're stuck now," Bofur agreed with mock solemnity, amused as always.

"No more pranks with sheep," Dwalin warned, completely serious. "It's not befitting of a King to torment members of his council."

Kíli rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know, Dwalin, haven't you ever wondered who gave us the idea in the first place?"

Dwalin frowned and shook his head, "Thorin would never-"

Kíli smirked widely and Bofur and Gloin burst into cackles while Dwalin's bald head turned an alarming shade of red. The Princess sighed deeply, rubbing at her temples as she stood. "Some things, it seems, never change."

Tauriel laughed with the rest of them, Bofur nudging her good-naturedly with his elbow, and Orí coming to stand at her side. She realized that they had been waiting for this moment, for her to confirm her fealty, that they actually _liked_ her. It was written across all their faces, plain as day, forcing her to realize that perhaps she had been blinded by her own assumptions all along. The two guards looked a touch uncertain but the uninjured guard made a show of introducing himself when the laughter had died away –Orte son of Dwert, my lady- and thanked her for her help in saving the Princess. She was nearly overwhelmed, and Kíli was positively _beaming_ with pleasure, watching her with the light of sun and stars shining through his eyes.

There was one face, however, that remained guarded and unfriendly, and it reminded her there were still gaps to bridge, obstacles for her to overcome. But as Dwalin handed her a cup of mead and Orí settled at her side with Kíli nearby, she decided that, just for the moment, she would set her fears aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird, I didn't end in a cliff hanger. Kili/Tauriel moments next chapter, and they start to head home. Finally, I know. Hope everyone enjoys Dis; I felt that Tauriel deserved someone on her side for once.
> 
> Chapter title is in reference to Kili's rune stone, which translates (roughly) to 'come back' or 'return.'
> 
> Translations:  
> Mimnu DurÎn- In Durin's name  
> Anthon velethen anden, aran vell -I give you my heart, my king (Tauriel, you're such a cheeseball. And before anyone asks, there is, in fact a chance that at least one other dwarf understood what she said, and the intention behind it...)


	14. The Spaces Between

**Chapter Fourteen** : The Spaces Between

* * *

 _Oh, all of these minutes passing, sick of feeling used_  
_If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised_  
_Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it_  
_Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it_  
  
_I'm headed straight for the castle_  
_They wanna make me their queen_  
_And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean_  
_I'm headed straight for the castle_  
_They've got the kingdom locked up_  
_And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut._

_Castle, by Hasley_

* * *

 

 

" **H** ow long will it take to dig ourselves out?” Kíli asked, staring up at the wall of glittering ice that had once been the opening to the fortress. There was a hint of sunlight at the top, a teasing glint of warmth and clear skies that managed to illuminate the hall.

Gloín grunted, leaning on an old shovel they’d found in a closet off the main hall, sleeves rolled up to his elbows despite the chill. “Half the day at least, must have been a snow drift off the mountain.”

Kíli ran a hand over his face, frowning. He looked tired and worried and Tauriel had to resist the urge to reach for him. It felt like ages had passed since last they’d touched or had a moment alone. Even glancing at his face made her blood sing, made her head spin and her judgement cloud.

She looked at Bofur instead, who was prodding at the snow with interest and scratching at his rear with his other hand. She grimaced, though it was certainly a much safer place to look.

“The Princess says the others ought to be nearby, perhaps they’ll find us first,” Dwalin said, a pickax slung over his shoulder.

As if in response, the frozen wall rumbled ominously and a shower of snow rained down toward them. Tauriel stepped deftly out of the way, but the others were not so lucky. Bofur was half buried and Kíli stumbled backward, shaking a frozen dusting of white from his hair. All of them were cursing.

“Oi!” came a voice and the shape of a head peeked down at them from above, the glare of the sun behind it so they all had to shield their eyes.

“Mahal’s balls! Durth, is that you?” Dwalin called, a massive grin spreading across his face, his blad head gleaming with melted snow.

“Aye, last I checked anyways,” said the new dwarf happily. “Been searching all damn night for you lot. Is the Princess down there with ye?”

“Aye, you great lump of goblin dung, she’s safe and sound thanks to us,” Kíli called, also smiling, which of course made _her_ smile. She quickly looked at Bombur instead, who was wiping his running nose on his tunic sleeve. She suppressed a shudder of disgust, wondering if she would ever grow used to the hygienic habits of dwarves.

“Bless me, is that young Kíli?” Durth whispered in awe, though it managed to echo down to them.

With her eyes adjusted Tauriel could see the dwarf more clearly, his ragged crop of graying red hair and his long red beard tucked between his chest and the snow. There were angular tattoos on his face, marking forehead and temples in stark angular designs that managed to be fierce and oddly flattering at once. He was staring down at Kíli as though he couldn’t quite believe he was real.

“Of course it is,” Kíli called back, his tone playful. “Now are you lot going to help dig us out or are you just going to gape down at us?”

“Right, right, I’ll just –Mahal’s beard, is that an _elf_ with ye?”

Tauriel felt a bit itchy about the collar.

“Aye, tis a long story,” Bofur chimed in, having finally been able to extricate himself from the snow, and raised his oddly shaped hat in greeting. “Don’t worry though, she won’t bite.” He shot her a wink and Tauriel raised a brow, not quite able to fight back a smile.

“At least not hard,” Gloín muttered with a smirk and Bombur elbowed him.

“Focus Darth,” Dwalin admonished. “Are the others with ye?”

“Oh aye, not far off. A few of us were sent to scout around. We’ll have you lot out in no time.” The dwarf began to wiggle backward, edging his way free of the snow and the fortress gate. “Ah, stay here,” he called in parting and Tauriel hid a snort with a cough and couldn’t help but think, _Dwarves_ , with a hint of fond exasperation.

“Should have asked after the Orcs,” Gloín said, frowning suddenly. He was clearly still worried for his son, not that she blamed him.

“There will be time for that once we’re free of this place,” Dwalin said then turned, distracted. “I’ll tell the Princess.”

The others smirked as their friend hurried away and Kíli scowled. Tauriel thought his obvious protectiveness of his mother –who was clearly able to look after herself- was very adorable.

“Come on Bombur,” Bofur said, clapping the other dwarf on the back. “Think there’s time now for a real breakfast.”

* * *

 

 **A** fter packing her things, and feeling generally useless, Tauriel began to wander.

The others remained in the entryway or near the campfire, talking or eating as their would-be-rescuers attempted to dig a way to freedom. The fortress was still, the air stale and tinged by decay, but like the ruined halls of Erebor, there was the weight of history. It littered the halls and hung on the walls, the remains of a people long gone caught in the tapestries and carvings, in the broken toys and tattered clothing. It made her sad, but it also made her hopeful. Someday, perhaps, these halls would be cleaned and refurbished and dwarves would come to live again.

She could hear his footsteps long before he caught her. She let him stalk her, let him creep through the shadows as her heart thundered in her ears. His hand found her, sliding from one hip to the other until he caught her hand, fingers threading through hers. It was dark, the light of the entry hall all but gone in the recesses of the old keep.

“It isn’t safe,” she whispered, a tremble of hot longing pulsing through her. It was impossible to control her reaction to him, she couldn’t even bring herself to try anymore.

His eyes glinted in the darkness, pupils large and almost predatory.

“We’ll be very careful,” he said, voice pitched low as he tugged her into a nearby alcove.

It was so dark that even _her_ eyes could only make out the faint shape of his face and the curve of his shoulders. But she could _feel_ him -his heat, his need, his love. Her breathing hitched and her skin prickled with anticipation. She wanted to touch him, she wanted him to touch _her_. The desire had banished all reason and thought as her hands instinctively grasped for him as his caught her gently by the face and tugged her lips down to his.

The kiss was insistent and demanding -a question, a challenge- and her body roared to meet him on the battlefield of questing tongues and fevered hands. Every moment they were together some terrified part of her whispered that it could be the last. That every kiss, every touch, was a moment stolen out of time and reality. It all felt so terribly precious and fragile and she couldn’t be close enough to him, couldn’t hold him tight enough.

Kíli, as though he were caught in the same manic spell, dragged her body firmly against his, drawing a gasp from her throat that he caught between his lips, echoing it with a low rumble in his chest. She bent at the knees, which were already weak, and half sat on a ledge that ran along the wall so that he was pressed between her legs and they were chest to chest, breath to breath, and heart to heart. She felt as though she were being consumed, as though she were transforming into someone or something else entirely.

He pulled away, his hands framing the bones of her neck and smoothing down her shoulders. “Sometimes,” he croaked, their lips inches apart so that she could taste every word. “Sometimes I feel I’ll go mad if I don’t touch you.”

His words made her belly clench and her thighs slacken, and she gripped as his shoulders, fingers searching till they dipped beneath his tunic and feel his skin. He was wickedly tempting, the muscles beneath her hands rippling as he leaned into her, into her touch, and she longed to explore the planes of him somewhere bright and safe where they could be alone for hours, possibly days.

“We should stop, this… this isn’t the place,” she said, though her body continued to betray her as she arched into the delicious trail of his hands down her spine.

“You’re right,” he muttered into the skin of her neck as he drew his lips up the tendons there. She had to bite her lip to silence the moan bubbling in her throat; nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so perfect. “But I wanted to touch you, just for a moment. I _needed_ to.”

Valar, his voice and words were unraveling what little self-control she had. Her people were a private, demur race when it came to physical intercourse and sexual desires. They mated for life, connections that ran deep enough to span eons, and what happened in their beds wasn’t meant for the ears or eyes of anyone else. But Tauriel understood enough to know the mechanics of it. She knew enough to understand the dampness in her underclothes and the coiled pressure low in her gut that begged for _more_. For him.

She also knew that they were walking a dangerous, dangerous line.

As if sensing all her thoughts, Kíli’s touch gentled and slowed and his body moved a little from hers till his head rested on her shoulder and his arms lightly caged around her, as though he was afraid to hurt her.

After a moment he said, “I’m sorry, that was dishonorable of me. I should not treat you like this.”

The guilt in his voice was strong enough that she wrapped her arms about him, letting her head fall to his shoulder as well, and huddled with him against what lay beyond their stolen moment.

“Hush now,” she said. “You did nothing I did not want.” Which might have shamed her if it wasn’t true and if it wasn’t him. He made her feel safe, welcome, and wanted.

Kíli drew away, urging her up as well, and she could feel his eyes searching for hers in the dark. “I _ache_ for you, Tauriel. And I know it is shameful and wrong of me, but some days I feel like I’d die to touch you. To kiss you… to hold you in my arms.”

Feeling at a loss, wishing she knew the right words to say, she touched his face, running her fingers along his jaw, beard rasping. Valar, how she cared for him, how she desired all the things he did, but found they all hovered just out of reach.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” she confessed.

He caught her hand and pressed a firm kiss to her palm, like a gift, like a promise –her own sort of runestone. “I will find a way for us to be together, I swear it,” he said as though something was tearing at his heart.

“Kíli-“ she began, but was interrupted by the sound of voices calling down the hall. They jumped apart and she shivered against the loss of his warmth.

“I love you,” Kíli said firmly, fiercely even, and then turned to stride down the hall.  

Tauriel wrapped her arms around herself, and sat in the dark for a time, trying to preserve the feelings inside her and the memory of his touch just a little longer.

* * *

 

 **A** fter hours of waiting, during which time Tauriel talked with Orí and Bofur and tried very hard not to look at Kíli, the dwarves from the Blue Mountains finally dug them free.

The veneration that the four dwarves, emerging from the icy tunnel shivering and snow dusted, showed for Kíli was heartwarming, as was his awkward unease as they bowed low to he and his mother. Tauriel had grown to understand how important his family line was to his friends, but it was even more apparent now. Kíli was the revelation of a dear dream that they had long thought beyond possibility. In him they saw the dawn of their future, and something selfish and sad twisted in her gut that she forced aside.

Things moved quickly after that. They grabbed their belongings and carefully made their way out through the tunnel one at time. Tauriel was all but crawling flat on her belly and was the last to vacate the mountain, not oblivious to the curious and rather hostile stares from the gathered dwarves outside.

“Princess,” a heavily armored dwarf said, stepping forward and falling to his knees. “We thought the worst…” he choked, lowering his head.

Dís moved forward and drew Kíli with her. Tauriel could sense his reluctance, his discomfort, but he followed dutifully after.

“We’re fine, I assure you. My son’s companion, the She-elf, arrived in time to save us from the Orcs,” she told them, and motioned Tauriel forward.

Feeling a little more than uneasy herself, she came to the Princess’s side as several dozen eyes scrutinized her. From the corner of her eye she could see Young Thorin sneering.

“But where did the elf come from?” one dwarf demanded, she didn’t know which.

“She was traveling with us,” Kíli said immediately. “She guided us through the forest. Her King named her Ambassador after the battle and has been welcomed into our halls with my blessing.” There was a hint of steel to his words. A hard edge that dared anyone to question him.

Tauriel lifted her chin and clenched her jaw, meeting the dwarves’ stares straight on.

“As you say,” said a finely dressed, gray bearded dwarf. “My King.” There was, however, a lingering sense of tension and uncertainty. Orí, Valar bless him, stepped protectively to her side in a clear show of solidarity.

“Where are the others?” the Princess asked, drawing their attention.

“Further up the pass, my lady,” said the first dwarf who’d spoken, rising to his feet.

“Was anyone other than Rune injured?” Kíli asked. The injured guard in question leaned against Dwalin and looked much better than he had the previous morning, but likely couldn’t walk for long.

The dwarf shook his head. “No, my lord. They were clearly in pursuit of the Princess.”

“How bad is the pass?” Dwalin interjected.

The dwarf shook his head and several of the other dwarves muttered darkly amongst themselves. “The main pass is all but impenetrable, the smaller may be clear enough though. We sent scouts to check this morning, they should have returned to the main party by now.”

“We should hurry,” Kíli said. “It’s already past midday and it has been a difficult few weeks of travel.”

“Troubles on the road?” the white bearded dwarf asked. His eyes were sharp and shrewd, and he was slimmer and lankier than most of his people. Tauriel was reminded of Balin, but his eyes were not so kind.

“Some,” Kíli admitted. “But we’ve had little chance to rest and recover since the battle.”

“Of course,” the dwarf said, clever eyes darting and narrowing briefly in her direction. Tauriel looked away, perturbed.

A litter was made for the guard and the company of dwarves began the trek up and around the gates of the keep in short order. Tauriel fell behind, as Kíli and his mother took the lead, feeling oddly listless and untethered, a dozen of his people between them. Tauriel imagined there would be only more and more between them in the future.

He did not look back at her, and she tried to cling to the words he’d whispered to her in the dark in the harsh brightness of the day, but they almost seemed to evaporate from between her fingers.

* * *

 

 **T** auriel found that Orí, Bofur, or Bombur were never far from her side. Gloín, who had been joyfully reunited with his wife and son, was generally absent.

They talked with her as the dwarves made camp after rejoining the main company later that day. They shared a fire with her, laughing and jesting, and inviting those who passed to join them –most did so with wary glares thrown her way, but settled near her nonetheless. Every conversation seemed to require her attention and input and Tauriel thought it was all terribly kind of them, even if their intentions were almost painfully obvious. Without them she knew the presence of a several hundred wary, distrustful dwarves might have overwhelmed her. Especially as she did not see Kíli except in passing, always surrounded by others.

“They’ll grow used to the idea,” Bofur said quietly, and Tauriel wasn’t certain if she caught a hint of mischief in his eye, as though he wasn’t entirely referencing just the fact that she was an elf. It was possible, she reasoned, that she was merely reading into things too much.

“I hope so, I’ve only just gotten you lot to stop glaring and cursing at me,” she said with weak humor, warming her hands against the flames of the fire as the sun set fully and the stars began to wake.

“Well, aside from Young Thorin, I reckon” Bombur said from across the flames, chewing happily at a leg of meat.

Tauriel flinched, and flushed. “I never quite had a chance to apologize for my behavior. I know he’s your kinsmen-“

“He’s a right spoilt prat,” Bofur croaked, lighting his pipe, the smoke obscuring his face. “The lad needed a good scare. I’ve been tempted to give him one myself.”

“It wasn’t my place,” she mumbled, poking at the fire with a stick. The other dwarves had drifted away to their beds, and Tauriel knew it was going to be a very long and lonely night. It was funny, she thought, how often one could be surrounded by people and still feel terribly, terribly alone.

“Perhaps not,” Bofur said ruefully, “but Kíli will have to do something about him soon and I don’t right trust his father.”

“You don’t?” Tauriel pressed, watching his face carefully.

Bofur was frowning, expression uncharacteristically serious. “Oh, I trust him to step down when Kíli returns. He won’t risk a civil war, not with at least half his people loyal to Kíli’s line, but that doesn’t mean he’ll make things easy.”

“Or that he won’t exploit Kíli’s weaknesses,” she said and Bofur met her eye. She didn’t have to guess what he knew any longer, it was clear as the winter stars.

“Aye,” he said and looked away.

Tauriel said nothing, that feeling of guilt pressing in closer around her.

* * *

 

 **T** he following morning dawned bright and clear and Tauriel made herself useful by helping tear down campsites and pack belongings. Most of the dwarves watched her warily, a few, however, seemed merely curious. Especially the children.

While bending forward to help lift some baggage atop a pony, a small child darted forward and touched her face with little preamble, stunning Tauriel _and_ her caretakers.

“Soft,” the child proclaimed with an adorably perplexed frown. Tauriel couldn’t be sure if it was a boy or girl, its cherub like face already carrying the wisps of a reddish beard.

“Valria!” A young dwarven woman called and hurried forward, but Tauriel was already enchanted. The elves so very rarely had children of their own and it had been decades since she’d been in the presence of one.

“It’s alright,” she said smiling down at the curious little face. The small hands moved up her face, along her sharp cheek bones, and up to her ears, pressing against them delicately.

“Pointy,” the child, Valria, said with slight wonder. Tauriel could feel the tension of the dwarves gathered, as if they were waiting for her to lash out or be offended.

Instead, Tauriel reached out and tapped the little one lightly on the nose with a bright grin. “Cute,” she anointed and the child –she was fairly certain it was a _she_ due to the pinkish ribbon braided into her already long hair- scrunched it with a giggle.

Valria flashed her a big grin, some of her teeth not quite there yet, and dashed back to her mother with an excited squeal.

“She is very sweet,” Tauriel said to the woman, taking a chance at kindness.

The woman, stout, red haired and plainly dressed in a rough wool gown, looked her up and down for a moment before offering an uncertain smile. “Thank you, takes after her father. A little too curious for her own good… I hope she did not offend you.”

“Not at all,” Tauriel said as Valria rubbed her head affectionately against her mother’s hand and arm. “It has been many years since I’ve seen a child.”

The woman frowned, perplexed. “Do… your kind not have children?”

Tauriel could feel the smile on her face fade, and her words sounded wistful, even to her. “Not for a long while, I’m afraid. Thank you for letting me meet yours, Lady…?”

The woman shook her head with a slight flush. “Oh, I’m no lady. My name is Felenis, I serve the Lady Thira.”

“It is nice to meet you, Felenis. I am called Tauriel.”

“Are you truly from Mirkwood?” the woman asked, bending to pick up her daughter and rest her on her hip with the air of habit.

“Yes, I remained behind after the battle to serve as an Ambassador,” Tauriel said, the words feeling oddly hollow, but the woman didn’t seem to notice.

“So you’ve seen it? You’ve seen Erebor?”

Tauriel smiled at the obvious eagerness and awe on the woman’s face. “Yes, though I had little time to explore. The halls were wondrous and Kí- the King, has already begun renovations.”

The woman shook her head, looking a bit dazed. “My mother used to tell stories of its great halls, but even she was only a little girl when the mountain fell… if only she were alive to see it.”

“Well, now you can show your daughter, tell her your stories,” Tauriel said.

The woman blinked and a soft, almost thankful look passed across her face. “Aye, that I will.”

“Is there… is there perhaps anything I might help you with? I confess I feel rather useless,” Tauriel said hopefully.

Felenis hesitated for a moment before saying, “Well, the other women and I could use some help packing our things. Most of us have little ones that keep getting under foot-“

“I’d be glad to help, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Some of them might be nervous, we aren’t exactly used to seeing elves about, but they’ll warm to you. Especially if you’re helping to ease their burdens. I don’t wish to impose, however-“

“I’m happy to help, I assure you,” Tauriel insisted and with another small smile, Felenis led the way.

* * *

 

 **T** he dwarves were cheerful as they traveled.

The main pass was indeed too difficult to travel, but a second, less used path proved manageable, and they went on their way. According to Orí, five hundred had made the initial journey, with several thousand more planning to travel over the next several years as they put their affairs in order and Erebor became more hospitable. Those with the most useful trade skills had embarked on this first journey along with their families.

Despite the ever present distrust most of the dwarves clearly maintained, Tauriel began to enjoy herself. The days were clear and crisp and the children took to darting playfully between the adults in wild games of chase, their laughter echoing off the mountain side. The women chattered and the men joked, while Orí remained close at her side, telling her stories and inviting several of his friends into conversation. It was surprisingly pleasant, even if she said very little. She was content to listen and watch and learn, taking note of the interesting cultural dynamics.

The women were surprisingly dominate. The men offered them clear, almost worshipful difference, and even those of the lowest caste were catered do. It was charming if not a little difficult to understand. Tauriel would have hated to be treated like a breakable object, but women like the Princess, and the Lady Thria, seemed to have learned to circumnavigate it well enough. Felenis had introduced Tauriel to the imposing noble woman who had given her a once over and immediately put her to work; work which the woman had no problem participating in.

The Lady Thria’s apparent indifference to any lingering racial grievances seemed to subdue the other women, until, slowly but surely, they began to grow comfortable enough around her to ask timid questions and talk amongst themselves again. It was honestly better than Tauriel could have hoped for.  

She saw very little of Kíli over the next few days. He caught her eye once or twice in passing and she could read his longing and apology, but there was no room for words or stolen moments. She always gave him a smile in response because she understood, even if she missed his easy presence and the warmth of his smile, that now was not the time for dalliance. Things would be different now, of course, she only wished she understood what he was thinking, and if perhaps he knew where she might stand in this foreign world she’d been thrust into.

It wasn’t until the fifth day of their return journey that she began to feel uneasy. The pass led began to lead down into a small valley between two ridges, with many overhanging ledges that threw the world beneath into shade and shadow. Passing beneath them made her shoulders tense and her skin crawl.

The feeling of dread only grew as they moved through the pass, and her eyes scanned the white, glaring ridges above. She let her hand drift to the hilt of a knife, feeling the chilled leather against her palm so that it might offer some comfort.

“What is it?” Bofur asked her with a frown, walking suddenly to her side. The others were laughing and jesting, still caught in the joy of being reunited with friends and family. The atmosphere was like the shakily released sigh after a close scare.

“Just a feeling….” she said, silently chastising herself for being overly paranoid, and forcing herself to relax a little. She’s spent too much time jumping at every shadow, she reasoned.

Bofur, on the other hand, seemed to share her concern. He was frowning, scanning the ledges with narrowed eyes.

“You’re right…” he said after a moment. “Something _is_ wrong, the scouts should have been back by now.”

He turned to say something to Dwalin, who was laughing at something Bombur had said, just as an arrow whizzed over his head and struck another dwarf in the eye. There was a bright spurt of blood, a strangled groan as the dwarf fell to his knees, and chaos erupted.

“Ambush!” Dwalin roared, hefting the axe off his back as more arrows rained down, striking several more dwarves as they cowered.

Fear burned at the back of her throat as Tauriel drew her knives, eyes already scanning the crowd for a familiar dark head, the situation sickeningly familiar. Valar, she wished she had her bow. She pressed forward, fighting back the urge to scream his name as dwarves rushed forward to escape the arrows, the guards and warriors attempting to shield the women and children as best as possible. With panic mounting she spotted him at last, a bow in hand with his mother at his side, looking furious.

Kíli caught her eye. “We must get free of the pass!” he hollered.

She nodded and ducked as an arrow skittered off the rocks near her head, when she looked again, Kíli was surrounded by guards.

“To the King!” Dwalin cried as Tauriel helped a frantic mother sweep up her child and another woman up as she stumbled.

“Quickly!” Tauriel cried. “We must clear the valley!”

“Tauriel!” someone cried, and she twirled just in time to catch the bundle Orí had tossed to her. It was a bow and arrows. She quickly sheathed her long daggers and shook the bow free of its bindings.

She knocked an arrow, dashed forward, and leapt up a boulder. She had made herself a target, but she could also spot several orcs. Drawing the bow, which was heavier than she had expected, she managed to shoot three of the foul beasts before leaping free, a shower of arrows landing where she’d stood.

“I count thirty,” she called to Dwalin, who was shielding a woman. He nodded grimly.

“They mean to bottleneck us in the pass ahead, we’ll have to scatter them,” he said as Tauriel darted to his side.

“Is there any other way out of this valley?”

“A small path cut into the rock ahead,” Bofur interjected. “We won’t be able to get everyone through it, but we should be able to get enough men up to deal with them.”

Dwalin nodded grimly. “Some of us will have to stay with Kíli, but the rest can-“

“Ah, about that my lord,” a dwarf interrupted, clearly hesitant to relay the information. “The King has already headed for the path, though he took most of his guard with him-“

Dwalin cursed fervently in Khuzdul and pushed through the running mass of dwarves. “Tauriel, Bofur, you two come with me, let the others protect the main party. Damned boy is just like his Uncle.”

Tauriel hurried after him, but was stopped momentarily by a familiar pinkish ribbon fluttering in the wind-swept hair of a crying child. Valria was huddled over her mother’s motionless form, an arrow protruding from Felenis's red stained chest. Tauriel’s throat constricted and she made a dash for the little girl, who was clearly in danger of being trampled. Her mind tugged at her, whispered that Kíli was also in grave danger, but she simply couldn’t leave the little girl whose mother had been so kind.

Tauriel snatched Valria into her arms and the little girl, her face tear streaked and pale, buried her head immediately into Tauriel’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!” she cried over and over again.

With a shaking hand, she reached out and felt for the woman’s pulse… and found nothing but cold flesh.

 _“Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta,”_ she whispered, voice choked, and turned with the child in her arms, her little body trembling.

She caught sight of Orí and rushed to him, depositing the child into his arms. Valria wailed and reached for her, but she had to help Kíli and the others, though it tore her heart asunder to let her go.

“Look after her, Orí,” she said. “Her mother….” She trailed off, unable to form the words.

But Orí understood, and fit the wailing child to his chest. “I’ll guard her with my life, I swear it.”

Tauriel could only manage a brief nod, before running after Dwalin and the others.

They were in the thick of things when Tauriel arrived. The Orc’s had closed ranks, and were making to surround the ten or so dwarves with Kíli at their center. She was surprised to see that Young Thorin was among them, snarling and slashing with his sword and hand axe.

Tauriel knelt in the snow and methodically shot into the horde of Orcs, effectively discouraging them from circling the dwarves in. There were at least fifteen more than Tauriel had counted, but she knew enough of dwarves to know that the odds hardly mattered. They fought with the sort of ferocity that had to be admired as much as it was to be feared.

When she ran out of arrows, she joined the fray, a deadly whirl of blades and flaming hair.

“Took your time, lass,” Dwalin said panting, a shallow gash along his temple and sweat glittering on his shinning head.

“I figured I would give you _dwarves_ a fair chance with a head start,” she grunted, stabbing through shoddily made armor, black blood staining her hands.

“Ha!” Bofur cried, happily cutting an Orc down. “That’s a challenge if I ever heard one!”

All humor was lost, however, as four Warg mounted Orc’s cleared the rise and came barreling toward them with death glinting off their crude blades.

“Reform the line!” Kíli called, sprinting to her side with a wicked grin that made her want to throttle and kiss him simultaneously. Did he always have to be so cursedly _reckless_?

“I swear, if we live through this, I’m going to strangle you,” Dwalin said, echoing her thoughts. Well, at least partially --Kíli did not look perturbed.

Thinking of Felenis’s cold, lifeless body, Tauriel dodged an Orc’s blade, leapt into the air with a ringing cry, and tackled the first of the Warg riders. The foul thing spat, and hissed and struggled, but she merely stared into it’s eyes as she slowly sank her blade through its chest.

 _“Mereth en draugrim,”_ she whispered darkly as the life left its eyes, and some part of her was disturbed by this uncharacteristically brutal behavior, but the rest of her was thinking of the little girl who would now have to grow up without a mother. Her blade was Valria's pain and Felenis's loss, and it would never be enough.

It was over quickly after that, though several things happened at once: the last Warg fell –Kíli’s arrow through its eye and Dwalin’s axe in its throat – and Young Thorin managed to kill the final Orc. But the momentum of his swing sent him stumbling, his feet sliding out from under him until, between one breath and the next, he was slipping down the mountainside. No one had noticed but Tauriel, who’d risen shakily to her feet, wiping her blade clean in the snow, and his cry was lost in the ringing cheers of the other dwarves.

With only a second’s hesitation, tired bones protesting, Tauriel gritted her teeth and threw herself forward, sliding across the snow after him.

“Tauriel!” A familiar voice cried in clear alarm, but it was too late.

She watched with mounting terror as the cliff neared and Thorin’s feet slid over the edge, followed quickly by his legs and torso. Their eyes met across the distance as the ground beneath them pitched forward, she saw the fear, the desperation, and the streaks of blood as his fingers scrambled for purchase on stone and ice. A split moment before he was lost, he reached for her and she dug her knife into the ice and gripped his hand in hers.

Pain laced through both of her arms, her recently injured shoulder protesting, but she forced everything aside in favor of survival as they both pitched over the edge and her blade caught. They dangled perilously and her knife slipped a bit further, tearing a groan from her lips. For an endless moment they hung there, stunned beyond words.

“I-I can reach the ledge i-if you swing me,” Thorin croaked at last, his face deathly pale. There was no malice in his eyes now.

“Hold tight,” she called back and began to sway, very aware that her blade might slip free at any moment and send both of them to their deaths several hundred feet below where the river was little but a silvery snake.

His grip was hot and slick on her forearm as she watched him swing below her, trying not to notice the height or hear the distant rushing of the water. Her blade shifted suddenly, jerking down several inches more, and she cried out in pain and fear, her back and shoulders burned with strain. The hand on her knife hilt shook dangerously.

“I can’t hold you!” She cried out, feeling her fingers weaken on his sleeve, but he was close, so very close to a slight ledge on the cliff face.

“Just a little further!” Young Thorin hollered back, not looking at her but at the rock so close to his outstretched fingers.

With all her strength she swung him one last time, a cry ripped from her lungs. His fingers grappled manically for an awful second then caught, his boots lodging as he clung and, by some miracle, stayed. A wave of relief struck her a moment before her knife slipped entirely free and she was weightless. She couldn’t even draw a breath, the world oddly motionless for one aching second.

Young Thorin reached for her with a terrified gasp, nearly falling himself, but she was already too far. She was falling and falling, time stuttering back, and the wind rushed like howling wolves in her ears. Too dazed to scream, she looked up to see a petrified face staring down at her, the bellow of her name echoing through the valley.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every story needs a literal cliff hanger, right?


	15. Through Shadows Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! An update. This was a tough one so I just tried to hammer it out as best and as fast as possible. Enjoy, and thank you for the reviews, they mean so, so, sooooo much to me.

_May it be the shadows call_  
_Will fly away_  
_May it be you journey on_  
_To light the day_  
_When the night is overcome_  
_You may rise to find the sun_

  _Morniл utъliл_  
_Believe and you will find your way_  
_Morniл alantiл_  
_A promise lives within you now_

_May it Be,  by Enya_

**  
**

* * *

 

 **C** old and pain; Tauriel’s world condensed around then, _became_ them.

She was suffocating in the oppressive darkness, her lungs burning with need, but she was too far gone, too lost to fight. There was something… something out there worth remembering, worth trying for, if only she could remember. If she could only manage to hold onto it. But she couldn’t even seem to recall her own name, no matter how hard she tried to grasp at it, so she let the thought go. She let _herself_ go, and in the distance she could see a hint of calm ocean and green shores, welcoming her, inviting her, and promising her rest.

Light invaded without warning, and she shrank back from it, afraid and confused. But it reached for her, enveloped her, and the pain receded.

 _You are dying,_ a sweet voice said and it was like a warm summer wind in tall grass, or the soft swaying of the trees on a calm, clear night. _Oh, how you have suffered my child, and I am sorry for it, but there is more yet for you to do. You cannot give up, he will need you… before the end._

There came a tugging sensation in her breast, as though a string were attached to her heart, and it pulled her up and away, that fair shore receding until it was entirely gone.

_You must fight, my child. You must not give up! He will need you to be strong, for he cannot walk this path alone._

The tugging sensation intensified and the light began to fade away. The pain returned in its wake with insistent, eager fingers, and she was nearly robbed of herself again.

_You must fight!_

* * *

 

 **T** auriel broke the surface of the water, gasping weakly as a soft tide washed her onto a rocky bank.

She lay there on her back, the water sweeping up to her waist then away again, for what might have been hours or days, attempting to understand what had happened to her through fragmented thoughts and broken memories.

A child crying; black blood on her hands, hot and foul; sliding across the ice, reaching, grasping, holding. Then… falling; cold… so cold. Little of it made any sort of sense to her.

She blinked her eyes open, lids feeling heavy and bruised, and hissed, raising a hand to shield her eyes. The sun was too bright, the pain too intense, and the blackness beckoned, promising respite.

A voice echoed through her mind, like the faint tolling of a distant bell. _You must not give up, child of the stars. Beneath stone and sky, he will need you. You must not give up!_

Kíli’s face shown in her mind like a beacon breaking through the gloom, a soft smile on his lips and a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. It was enough to jolt her fully into awareness, gasping and trembling as the memories fit together and she recalled her terrible fall and all that had proceeded it.

She shifted and cried out, the ribs on her left side little more than a sharp stabbing pain, her left wrist like a burning coal beneath the skin, and her left leg a twisted thing of agony that she could hardly comprehend. Dizzy and sick, she collapsed again and forced her mind into a place of distant calculation, letting several hundred years of training take stock of her situation.

Several of her ribs were certainly broken, anything but slow shallow breaths painful and strained. Her wrist and leg were also severely damaged, a cursory glance down her body showed part of her femur had punctured the skin, a grisly protrusion from her torn trousers that nearly made her vomit. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at her wrist, afraid its condition might push her over the edge where she already precariously teetered.

Swallowing thickly she gathered herself again, concluding that she had likely sustained some head trauma, though its severity was hard to separate and pinpoint. Nearly every part of her body was caught in varying degrees of agony, and she was terribly, terribly cold. Experience had taught her that the elements could kill a person just as surely as any wound, and she certainly had plenty of those.

But, despite the sheer impossibility of it, she was _alive_.

She knew, however, as one knows that the sun will rise and the moon will shine, that she should not have survived the fall. The distance had been too great and the river too turbulent. Yet… here she was, more or less whole. She would not remain alive for long, she knew, if she did not find shelter and help soon. The sun was already dipping toward the tree line and the temperature would fall swiftly after it.

Using her good arm she sat up, the pain in her ribs doubling so that she had to breathe raggedly through a wave of dizziness, and slowly pulled herself completely out of the river until her back met the trunk of a tree. She slumped for a long while, trying to gain some strength and develop a survival strategy.  

The area around her was unfamiliar. She could see no hint of the mountains above towering trees on either side of the river, where the water ran slower. With no way of knowing how far she had drifted, she wasn’t sure how long it might take for her companions to find her, and then a cold thought crept into her mind.

Perhaps they would not look for her at all.

Kíli, she knew, would want to search, want to be certain, but the others would likely be the voice of reason. There was no way she should have survived the fall, and even if she had, it would likely take days to reach the river from the pass and by then she would be too far gone. No, she thought with a heavy heart, help would not come, at least not soon enough.

She was on her own.

Suddenly furious, she let her head fall back against the tree, gritting her teeth despite how it made her jaw ache, and fighting back tears of frustration and hopelessness. She did not want to die like this, cold and alone out in the wilderness. Determination bubbled inside her, chastising her for such dismal and cowardice thoughts. She was an elf of Mirkwood and she did not give up so easily.

Besides, Kíli would certainly not want her to give up, he would want her to fight for life, to fight for him and what they shared. Had their roles been reversed she would have searched until she found him, would have gone to the ends of Arda after him, but… they were not the same. She had little left to her in the way of responsibility, cut off from her people and everything she had ever known, while he had a kingdom to rebuild and govern. He could not abandon them to look for her and so she knew that it was up to her to find him again.

Steeling herself, she used a branch to pull herself up, crying out as every part of her protested, but forcing herself to stand. She needed to find higher ground, find a way to determine where she was and how to find help. Her odds of finding anyone in the wilderness were slim, but she felt her entire life was owed to poor odds and a lot of luck. Hopefully it would not abandon her now.

She was able to determine north, using the moss on a nearby rock, and set herself south. A fire burned in her heart, searing the pain back into manageable proportions. She couldn’t give up, something in the recesses of her soul told her Kíli needed her, that she could not fail him.

Filled with determination, she took a shuffling step and then another, until she was moving at a reasonable, albeit uncoordinated, pace. Eventually, dizzy and out of breath, she reached a clearing with a rocky outcropping that she thought she might be able to manage  if she went slowly and carefully. The sun had begun to set, igniting the sky and a chilling the air, reminding her that she needed to build a fire, not only for warmth, but for the smoke, which might lead someone to her.

With great difficulty, she managed to gather some small pieces of wood and kindling, setting it aside in favor of crawling up the rocky rise before she lost the light. It took her a long while, trembling with cold and weakness, until she collapsed gratefully at the crest with just enough sun left to see. When she’d caught her breath a little, she stood on her one leg and looked out across the blanket of trees. The mountains were to her left and the forest to her right. She was in the outermost reaches of the trees in a rarely traveled part of the wood that was too far north to be frequently patrolled by her people.

“Valar save me,” she breathed in dismal awe, hardly able to believe her own eyes.

She had traveled in the river for many, many miles. Far from the pass, too far to be quickly traversed, leaving her with the disturbing notion that she had been swept away by the current for over a _day,_ at least.

Feeling sick, she sank to the ground again, mind racing and disjointed. How had she survived such a journey? It did not seem possible, and the notion that she was indeed on her own intensified. Reaching Kíli and the others again had gone from improbable to impossible, and she glanced behind her, knowing that her best chance of survival now lay with the people she had left behind.

Her experiences with Welethen were fresh enough in her mind to make the idea not entirely pleasant, but she knew she had little choice between possible imprisonment… and death. Even now she knew she was near utter collapse and it took much of what strength she had left to maneuver her way back to the ground.

It was fully dark by the time she managed to reach her dismal pile of wood again, and she struggled for a long while to create a spark with two bits of wood before she finally had a small fire going. She huddled near it, cold and dejected, as her body drew her toward a fitful sleep.

* * *

 

 **S** he rose the following morning with the dawn and felt worse than she had the day before. Her head pulsed with pain and her broken leg and wrist were terribly, terribly stiff, nearly unbearable to move at all as she drew herself into sitting position.

Her fire had gone out sometime in the night and she was shivering with cold again, and hunger was also becoming a persistent concern as she moved away to relieve herself. Struggling with her trousers and laces using her uninjured hand, she came embarrassingly close to fainting, but managed to not disgrace herself entirely.

Fortunately she had kept close to the river and she plodded her way through the trees to its bank, drinking her fill despite the frigid temperature, and wishing she had all her faculties so that she might at least heat some of it to cleanse her wounds and warm herself, but every movement was a trial, every step a mile.

She took the time to do what she could for her wounds, however, fighting back tears at the condition of her hand and leg. Her wrist was flimsy and angled oddly, while the bone in her leg remained protruding, though it had stopped bleeding. Feeling fainter than ever, she turned her head as she clumsily cleaned what she could of the wound, then turned to washing her hands and face, the terrible cold keeping her aware and conscious.  Finished, she knew that she had to get moving if she had any hope of reaching help in time.

Another night without food or warmth would likely be her undoing.

Noting the sun and river, she continued south, cursing her unfamiliarity with the region as her world beneath the trees began to grow more shadowed, the canopy rising and shifting into the ancient trees of what had once been the Greenwood. Long had her home been cast into mirk and danger, so long she could not recall a time which it had not been. Valar save her if she ran into any trolls or spiders here, with only her one knife left to her and her very limited strength. She would be an easy target indeed, especially for someone like Welethen, whose intentions remained mysterious and foreboding.

She watched the trees, listened to the wind, praying for some slight indication that someone, anyone might be nearby, but heard only the rustling of beasts and the chorus of shy birds. Weak and unfamiliar with the area, she was in real danger of losing herself in the twisted roots and creeping vines, and she thought it was distinctly ironic that she might meet her end lost in the very forest to which she had been born.

Ironic, and terribly pathetic.

As her strength waned she had to rest more often, hardly able to go a hundred steps without at least needing to lean against some tree or rock to gather herself, desperately trying to stay upright. She thought of Kíli, of his hands and face and smile, using his visage as motivation to keep on, to not give up, though her courage faltered with every downward inch of the sun.      

 _He will need you before the end_ , a voice whispered, though it grew very faint. _Do not give up… do not give….up…._

* * *

 

 **H** ours later, night fell and Tauriel stumbled on.

There was nothing in her mind save for the impulse to careen almost blindly from one tree to the next, but in her heart she knew the truth. She was merely lumbering to her death, each awful step pulling her closer to the end. And the knowledge broke her heart, choking her spirit, and quenching what little remained of her determination.

It couldn’t end like this, a small, ever shrinking voice cried from within --she couldn’t have gone through so much only to have it all fall to naught! She would not accept it but…she was so cold, so very, very cold. Cold enough that she had forgotten warmth and sunlight, forgotten what it meant to be without pain and discomfort. She’d lost all sense of direction and purpose, fueled only by a base need to press on, like a rock rolling down a hill, waiting to reach the bottom.

The world had taken a surreal, misty quality and she began to hear voices and see faces in the darkness, lurking behind trees and rocks. They mocked her, jeering and leering, whispering to her that it was better for him that she had fallen, that she was gone, and that she’d never been anything more than an impossible distraction.

Orí stepped near her side, glaring up at her with hatred in his eyes. “You would have been his fall, his _failure_. Your selfishness would have thrust us all into doom and darkness. Better that you had let him die that day on the battlefield than you take him now on a forbidden path.”

It was as though she’d been slapped, and she staggered from the emotional blow, warding him off with a weak swipe of her arm.

Legolas stood at the pass ahead, his face fallen and eyes dark. “I would have given my soul, my very life for you, and you turned me away for a dwarf who would have only ever left you bereft and alone. You have betrayed our people, you have betrayed me….”

“No,” she croaked, reaching for him, only for his face to vanish. “No, please... I never, I never meant to hurt anyone. I only wanted to save him…”

“Save him,” Thranduil sneered from the path ahead, his face illuminated and fair but his expression damming. “You would have doomed him to a fate worse than any death.”

She shook her head, crashing into a tree, and she gripped its trunk like a sailor lost in a storm.

She squeezed her eyes shut willing the visions and voices away. “No, please, please leave me. I only wished to help, to save him. I-I love him.”

“What do you know of _love_ ,” Thranduil sneered in her ear and she screwed her eyes shut, lurching forward, trying to escape him. But he followed her, _haunted_ her. “What you felt for the would-be dwarven king is nothing but a shadow, a false infatuation that led you to betray your people, betray _me_. Be grateful your parents did not live to see you fall so far!”

“NO!” she cried, and opened her eyes, taking off at a shambling run. “Leave me! Leave me!”

Suddenly her injured leg caught and she stumbled and fell, a wretched scream of pain and delirium clawing out of her chest as she landed on broken wrist and leg. She rolled down a hill, the pain so intense, that when she landed, she retched miserably into the mulch, sobbing and shaking until she collapsed in on herself.

The darkness did not beckon any longer, it swooped down on her with true intent, and she knew that this time it would not let her go. Tauriel welcomed it with open arms, eager to see those green shores again. To forget her pain.

* * *

 

 **F** lashes in the night, like stars imploding, and voices swam, as if she were under several feet of water.

“What could have happened to her?” someone said, and she felt the ghost of hands, though it was more a distant memory than actual feeling.

“She is very near death… there is nothing we can do,” another voice reasoned.

“Her spirit has always been strong, perhaps if we could get her back-“

“We’re several days out and she likely will not survive the night, already she is fading. There is nothing we can do, my friend, I am sorry.”

“No, no! I will not accept this! We have to try. She would have carried us on her back were she to find us in such a state!. She would not have given up on us, and I will not give up on her. Help me with this, we will cover ground more quickly if we can-“

The voices broke like glass and scattered, sharp and glinting, and she sank back into the depths, fingers reaching but finding nothing.  

* * *

 

 **T** auriel floated somewhere above the world, soft and weightless, and saw what might have been.

A pale face, lifeless hands, and eyes that would never again open. A third tomb built in a silent, dark hall, where only the dead could stay, and a wailing cry followed by a broken pain far greater than any physical hurt she had ever known, and with it a certainty that all the light had faded from her world, leaving behind only a pale reflection. The stars did not shine for her any longer, and she wandered into dull shadow. Forever alone.

She watched as the world fell into darkness, as a great sea of black bent toward her, and her people cried out in longing and fear. She watched as her friends -Orí, Gloín, Bombur, Bofur, and Dwalin- fell to cruel blades and boundless malice, all while she stood apart, helplessly alone. From a great distance she found Legolas, surrounded on all sides by teeth and claw, his eyes pleading with her, blaming her, as foul flesh engulfed him.

 _You must fight!_   

The world shifted and tilted, and she drifted through a sudden warm light. Voices called and she moved toward them, until she came upon a scene that was dear to the deepest, most secret parts of her heart. So dear and fragile she had never dared allowed herself to dwell on it.

In a cavernous room Kíli stood, crowned and resplendent, deep in conversation with several other dwarves. He was nodding, brow furrowed as he listened carefully to something Balin said, and a door burst open, a small flame haired child dashing inside the room with a harried looking nurse on her heels.

Kíli turned with the rest at the noise and a broad smile, full of love and tenderness, warmed his face in such a way that Tauriel had never seen, and he knelt to sweep a little girl into his arms. The child was grinning and laughing as her father --for the similarities of their features could be no coincidence-- swung her around while the others looked on with indulgent grins. Such a wave of longing washed through Tauriel that it was nearly beyond bearing as Kíli bent his head to place a tender kiss on their daughter’s brow.

It was cruel, too cruel to be born. She could not stand it!

_You must not give up!_

* * *

 

 **T** auriel woke to the fading notes of a song, its melody sweet and sorrowful, and it drew her toward consciousness with gentle insistence, banishing her fears like cool mist on a warm day.

Tauriel blinked, the world hazy, and eventually managed to focus on a familiar face that hovered above hers. Creases of worry smoothed from a fair brow and Thranduil pursed his lips down at her.

“We have been here before,” he said dryly. “I had hoped to never be here again.”

Tauriel, disoriented and weak, tried to sit up, but a gentle hand stayed her. She was engulfed in soft sheets on a feathered mattress, the room simple, but warm, and it did not make any sense to her. Her last memories were of impenetrable darkness and doom.

“Do not move, your wounds are not fully healed and far too much time has already been spent on resetting bones to have you ruin good work,” the Elven King said and swept away to pour a glass of water into a silver cup. With surprising tenderness, he lifted her head and pressed the goblet to her lips, holding it there till she had drained it, and repeating the process twice more.

“Where am I?” she croaked at last, feeling marginally better.

“You are in the halls of my kingdom. Have you forgotten the place you once called home so quickly?”

She frowned, mind racing through her distorted memories. Flashes of moments and images, but nothing substantial enough to account for her current predicament, only a faint recollection of voices... and a dream… both terrible and sweet… gone now, but not too far out of reach.

She shook her head. “But… how?”

“Several scouts found you and brought you back here. And just in time, I might add. You were very near death, in truth I thought you gone beyond all saving, but I would never have forgiven myself if I did not try. And neither I think, would my son, though he has fled these halls,” he said this while looking away from her, out into the night where soft lights glittered among the trees that formed the ancient palace. There was an unfathomable sadness in his eyes. “You took with fever your second day with us and I labored for nearly three more to bring you through it but… here you are,” he turned back toward her, almost smiling, though his expression was guarded. “Which leads me to ask… what happened to you?”

Whether by sheer exhaustion or a desperate need to please this man she had once hung the stars by, she retold her tale. Taking up the story from their journey into the mountains where she’d happened upon the Princess Dís; she thought it was perhaps best not to mention her dealings in the forest just yet. If what he said was true, it had been nearly two weeks since her tumble from the mountain and into the river. Several weeks that the dwarves had likely assumed her dead.

“Such a fall should have killed you,” Thranduil said gravely, echoing her thoughts, and she wished she knew what he was thinking.

“Yes, my lord, it should have,” she agreed.

“And yet here you are,” he mused. “By some miracle.” His tone told her that he did not entirely believe her tale, and her heart sank. Once he had trusted her judgment, almost without question.

“By your skill and kindness,” she said, looking down, shame and sadness welling in her. She had long considered what she might say to her king when she saw him again, but now found she had no words in which to heal the rift between them.

Perhaps no such words existed.

The king scoffed lightly. “Perhaps, though you have always had a strong spirit, which has been both your blessing and curse. Do not think I have not heard of your travels in the Deep Roads, Tauriel, though you cleverly avoided their mention.”

She shivered at the memory of Welethen’s face, twisted and foul as his fingers dug into her wounded arm. “Please, my lord, I can explain. Captain Welethen-“

“Has gone missing,” he interrupted tersely, “and is considered a fugitive of my kingdom.”

Tauriel looked up, stunned, to find that fury was burring in Thranduil’s eyes, and he rose to pace away from her. “When Lieutenant Curial reported your movements with the dwarves, I ordered Captain Welethen to bring you to me. Not the dwarves, of course, I have had enough dealings with _dwarves_ to last several lifetimes, but I wanted to have words with you.”

“Concerning what… my lord?”

He whirled toward her. “Concerning your loyalties Tauriel! Or have you forgotten your kin, have you forgotten your own people!”

She flinched away from him, weak and still disoriented. Foul voices leapt out at her from the corners of her mind. Memories of his face, furious and cruel.

A gentle hand stilled her, and she opened her eyes, though she could not recall closing them. The anger in her king’s eyes and been quelled with pity, though it lingered like a wolf in the shadows.

“I am sorry. Now is not the time for this conversation. You must rest, and I have other things to tend to.”

Her mind stuttered and she thought of Kíli. “My companions… the dwarves, they surely think me dead. I must get word to them.”

Thranduil scowled, hurt flickering briefly across his features. “Now is not the time to worry over such things. Word can be sent, but for now drink this and rest.” He handed her a tincture of some faintly greenish liquid, which she accepted reluctantly. She was tempted to refuse him, but the look in his eyes left no room for argument, and she dutifully drained its contents. It tasted foul and she pulled a face.

“Just like when you were a child,” Thranduil mused, again not looking at her. “You were always terrible at doing what you were told.”

“Not always, my lord. I protected this kingdom, I served you,” she found herself saying, a sense of injustice putting voice to her feelings. “I have always sought to please you.”

Thranduil looked to her again, eyes cold and face impossible to read. “Enough talking now, you will rest and we will talk again soon.”

He turned and left the room without another word, leaving Tauriel to her tumultuous thoughts as an undeniable weariness came over her.

Alone, however, she forced herself to survey the damage.

Her wrist still ached steadily in its thick wrappings, though the pain had been significantly dulled. She wondered if she would ever be able to draw a bow again, hold a sword again, or climb through the trees with ease again,and quickly brushed the sentiment aside before it could overwhelm her. There would be time to find out, time to heal. Cringing as muscles pulled and bruises made themselves known, she felt the bandages beneath a simple cotton dress meant to restrict her movement so her ribs might heal. She was lucky none of them had punctured her lungs or she would have been dead in hours.

Turing back the sheets, she found her leg was also wrapped in thick bandages, wedged between several bits of fitted wood, and was surprised to find she could wiggle her toes. She smiled a little, and yawned for perhaps the first time in her life.

Whatever Thranduil had forced her to drink was insistently pulling her toward sleep, so she clumsily covered herself again and sunk into the bed, feeling oddly languid and disjointed. But she was deeply troubled over what her king had said, and worried for Kíli.

She blinked once and did not open her eyes again till the following morning.

* * *

 

 **T** he king did not return the next day, or the next, nor the one after that.

Instead she saw only a slew of healers and maids, few of whom were familiar. When she asked after Luríena, who was perhaps one of their most talented healers, she was told only that her dear friend was busy with other duties and could not visit. When she asked after the king, she was almost entirely ignored. Instead they fed her, dressed her, bathed her, and helped her to the privy with quiet but insistent care. Every night another foul potion was forced upon her, and she was drugged into dreamless sleep as her body began to mend.

After another two weeks of being in the palace, the moon high and full, she was nearly beside herself with worry for Kíli and the others. One of the serving women had brought her a cane to allow her to move about her rooms on her own once she’d proven herself able to stand without falling, and she grabbed it with sudden frustration, pulling herself up from her bed. She looked outthe single window of her room, watching the figures move along the pathways below, and knew she was near the royal quarters of the palace.

Shuffling to the small dresser, she found a dress robe of deep blue silk edged in white fur –far finer than anything she had ever owned- and awkwardly tied it about herself with her one good hand. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she went to the door and threw it open, only to find herself face to face with a heavily armored guard.

“I am sorry, my lady,” the guard said, his face familiar but without a name, “but you are forbidden to leave these rooms,”

She frowned, a cold understanding creeping along her spine. “Forbidden? By whom?”

She knew the answer before he spoke, but the swords still burned. “The King, of course.”

“Did he say why or for how long?” she ground out, fury roaring to replace the sting of betrayal.

The guard shook his head, his expression firm and resolute. Thranduil had clearly chosen someone whom she’d had little tie to, supposing rightly that she might have tried to bribe or reason her way free. “He did not, my lady, only that you were not to leave and that should you need anything, I send for someone.”

“I _need_ to speak to the king,” she all but snapped, aware that her petulance was unlikely to get her anywhere, but after days of being trapped in a small room her nerves were beyond frazzled.

“I’m afraid his majesty is not available, though I will pass your request on,” his tone informed her quite clearly that he would in fact do no such thing, that he was repeating a lie which he’d been commanded to relay, and her blood boiled.

“I will see him myself then! He has no right to hold me prisoner,” she said, knowing her words were entirely untrue –Thranduil was king and that alone gave him every right- and made to move past him, but the other elf caught her firmly by the arm.

“I do not wish to hurt you, my lady, but I have been given permission to physically restrain you if necessary,” his eyes and voice were tinged with steel.

Briefly, Tauriel envisioned how she might incapacitate the man before reason crept in; she was unarmed, still terribly weak, and in a frequently trafficked part of the palace where other guards were sure to notice such a ruckus.

The hand on her arm squeezed hard enough that she squirmed. “Please go back inside, my lady, do not make this harder than it needs to be,” the guard’s eyes were cold and intense; she would find no compassion there. She slumped in his grip and allowed him to urge her back inside her room.

“He cannot keep me here forever,” she said, but the guard said nothing as he closed the door, the click of the lock loud in the lonely silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to guess who the voice Tauriel hears belongs to? :D
> 
> Lets see, a few things:  
> Some parallels with Aragorn and Arwen in the films is intentional, because I love what Jackson did there and I thought perhaps I could tie it in a bit.  
> This chapter was sort of intentionally disjointed to really get a feel for the trauma Tauriel endured without dragging it out too too much. You know?  
> And don't worry, I'm sad Kili didn't find Tauriel too, but worry not precious readers, there be plans afoot and plot points to be resolved.


End file.
